By Vengeance Buffeted
by Antigone Rex
Summary: In a moment of weakness, Roy leaves himself vulnerable to an embittered rival from the past. Very loosely inspired by Prometheus Bound. Gift!fic for mebh. Hints of Royai. Dark.
1. Simple Sooth

Given my username, it was only a matter of time before I (**very** loosely!) based a fic off a Greek tragedy. But don't worry; you don't have to be familiar with _Prometheus Bound_ to read this story.

This is a **giftfic** for the lovely, talented, and venerable **mebh**. If you haven't read her stuff, you are missing out. Seriously. Stop reading this drivel, go to mebh's page, and enjoy some _quality_ writing. The end.

Done? You read it _all_? Okay.

mebh requested something **crazy dark** with a **hurt!Roy** and a **rescue mission**. She might have asked for other things, but we'll get to that later.

Here goes.

* * *

**Part 1: Simple Sooth**

_What thou wouldst learn I will make clear to thee,  
Not weaving subtleties, but simple sooth  
Unfolding as the mouth should speak to friends.  
I am Prometheus, giver of fire to mortals._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

He tossed back the last swallow of whiskey. His mouth twisted. It tasted sour.

Perfect. It matched his mood.

He still could not believe it. He was so certain – it was practically his. When Brigadier General Maple called Mustang into his office, Roy was confident he knew the reason. Grumman hinted weeks ago during one of their chess games that Mustang would climb the ranks very soon. Roy remembered flashing Hawkeye a smug grin as he slipped through the door, already drunk on his victory. But General Maple had not summoned him to offer his congratulations. Rather, it was to dole out disappointing news.

Passed up for promotion. Roy was to remain a Lieutenant Colonel for at least another year. Another stagnant, useless year. Another step away from his goal. It was a bitter letdown. It downright stung.

The reasons for the decision were vague and meaningless. He needed more time to 'mature as an officer.' General Maple was convinced Roy required more experience before he was ready to take on the responsibilities of a full colonel. Mustang dutifully saluted his superior, saying his 'yes sirs' as expected, while inwardly he seethed at the injustice of it all.

The worst part had been her eyes. Roy had burst out of Maple's office, a whirlwind of righteous fury, to find her standing there. Waiting for him, as always. And - as always - she knew the result of the meeting with Maple the moment she saw him. He could not stand the silent sympathy in her unwavering gaze. Of course she did not show her disappointment. She would never impose her own feelings upon him; she would never yoke him with that burden. But he knew they was there, hidden away even from him. When he lost, she lost too. He failed her. He failed _them_.

He did not look at her as he brushed past. He could not stand it, the way her eyes looked straight through him.

God, it was unbearable sometimes.

And unfortunately, he picked the wrong bar to wallow in his defeat. Fate had it in for him tonight. Roy glanced to the other end of the room, where a group of soldiers sat in a raucous cluster. He recognized every one of them, and he knew the source of his discontent nestled casually in their midst. As it turned out, someone _had_ been promoted today. And he sat not twenty feet from Roy. The newly-made Colonel Ophis nursed a frothy ale, his ruddy cheeks flushed with pleasure as his comrades slapped him on the back.

Roy's expression darkened as hatred and jealousy boiled thick and hot within him. It writhed deep in his stomach and he felt bile climb to the back of his throat. _He_ deserved that position. Not that bumbling, asinine nobody. How could this happen? How had he been so overlooked? If only he had convinced the Elrich boy to come back with him. A boy prodigy alchemist would have clinched the promotion.

A wave of laughter swept through the celebratory party. The jarring noise reverberated off the walls, and Roy longed to stop his ears to damp the sound. He contemplated leaving the tavern, but the threat of being spotted stealing away in shame cemented him to his seat. His pride would not allow retreat. He kept his gaze trained on his now-empty glass.

A soldier peeled off from the group and stumbled toward the bar. Roy saw him in the corner of his vision and he knew – he _knew_ – it was the new Colonel. Fate was not his friend tonight. Ophis' bleary eyes spotted Roy almost immediately. He sauntered to the bar, all fresh confidence and unhurried nonchalance. "Well, well. If it isn't the famous Flame Alchemist," she slurred. He signaled the bartender for another round of ale. "Aren't you going to congratulate me, _Lieutenant_ Colonel?"

Roy did not bother looking up from the glass that twirled between his hands. "Should I?" he asked airily.

"In fact you should." His chest puffed. "You're looking at Eastern Headquarters' newest full-fledged Colonel."

"Hmmm. _That's_ interesting."

Ophis frowned, betrayed by his fledgling confidence. "What's interesting?"

Roy smirked, his eyes still on his glass. If he could not have the promotion he craved, he could at least enjoy toying with the man that stole it from him. "Oh, nothing… sir."

"What, Mustang? If you have something to say, then say it."

Roy shrugged, sending a sloe-eyed look up at his now-superior. "Isn't your father a General stationed in Western headquarters? I hear he and Maple are good… acquaintances."

Ophis' face twisted. "What are you implying? If you think my father had anything to do with my promotion, you're wrong. I earned it." He snorted. "Anyways, you're one to talk, Mustang. You kiss ass more than any of us. Not that it does you any good. You may have your 'special time' with Grumman, but it didn't seem to get you very far this time, now did it?"

Mustang mouth dropped into the smallest of frowns. No matter. He had other ammunition at his disposal. "This isn't the first time daddy's helped you out, is it, _Colonel_? It seems to me one of your training exercises went awry last spring. I should know – I was the one sent to clean up that mess. All that money had to come from _somewhere_. I wonder where?" Roy watched Ophis' eyes slowly transform as each word hit their intended mark. Sometimes simple truth cut sharper than the keenest knife. "How did you manage to accidentally detonate that bunker, by the way? I am intensely curious."

With a vicious snarl, Ophis grabbed the collar of Roy's shirt, lifting him from the seat. His knuckles pressed into Roy's windpipe, and Mustang let out a choked cry. "You wanna know why you weren't made full Colonel, you little shit?" he spat. "It's because you manipulate people like the rat you are. You think you know everything. And you make sure everyone you meet knows it. You strut around like a proud fucking cock. Well, guess what? General Maple saw right through you. That's why you'll never be anything more than a fucking dog to them. That's the only reason why they want you. To _use_ you, Flame. You're just a tool to them. A tool for killing." He pushed Roy into his seat and released his collar. The chair tipped back precariously for a moment before it righted itself.

Roy fixed the elder man with a self-possessed stare, an impudent smirk resolutely plastered on his lips. His hands calmly smoothed his lapels. "I'm confused… which one am I? A rat, a cock, or a dog?"

Ophis stared at Roy, hatred, disbelief, and fury playing over his features in turn. His hands tightened into white fists; the tendons creaked in protest. After a tense, heavy moment, the Colonel tossed his head, as though trying to shake a buzzing fly away. "Fuck it," Ophis seethed. "You're not worth it." The Colonel swept up his drinks from the bar, the ale sloping messily over his shaking hands. He stalked away. Roy heard Ophis' friends call out in greeting as he rejoined their merry party, uninterrupted by the muted spat nearby.

Roy turned back to the bar, his expression darkening, his thoughts bleak, his heart stony.

It was nights like this that made him question what it was all for. The war. The blood on his hands. The confident façade. He hated himself for it. And – as Ophis was cruel enough to point out – others hated him for it, too. Though Roy's mind fearfully shied away from the thought, he knew the Flame Alchemist was equally loved and reviled. Trusted and mistrusted. Venerated and feared. Roy often wondered how it was possible for one man to be so many things. It was such a burden. The weight of it dragged at him. The only way he could cope was by veiling his uncertainty behind a curtain of snarky comments and all-knowing smiles.

Ophis was right. He _was_ a little shit.

Roy curled in on himself, a desolate, gnawing hollowness carving a hole in his chest. The yawning void made him breathless. He desperately needed to fill it with something. Anything. He could not bear this empty feeling of failure.

A slim hand slid over Roy's shoulder to rest on his collarbone. The spicy smell of perfume filled his nose. "You looked lonely over here," said a soft, husky voice. "You're too handsome for that."

Roy glanced to his left. A woman leaned close, clad in a dress of the thinnest material. In clung to her, accentuating her shapely curves. She held a whiskey in one hand.

It took only a moment to don his confident mask once more. "Is that for me?" he asked impishly, glancing at the drink. A wan smile spread over his lips. It did not touch his eyes.

"Only if you want it," she answered. Her voice was soft, the timbre low. It promised pleasant, secret things. She leaned forward to slip her hand further down his chest. Her breast pressed into his arm.

"I wouldn't want to deprive you of your drink."

She smiled secretly. "Whiskey's not for me. Too sour."

Roy slipped a hand around her waist. His palm found her hip. It was warm and soft and round. It felt… good. It made him forget things, if only a little. "What's your pleasure?"

The woman looked down at him, her expression unreadable. She was blonde, her hair pinned back. Perfect. Roy's thumb circled absently along the crest of her hipbone and for a fleeting moment he imagined she was someone else.

"I'd like something sweet," the woman said. She stepped around him to lean her back against the bar. She lifted her leg to rub it against his, up and down.

He knew he should not encourage her. Though his reputation as a womanizer was not unearned, it was certainly exaggerated. He was not in the habit of bedding random women he met in bars. But her knee was warm against his thigh. And his chest felt so horribly empty. And she was so enticingly full. He wanted to fill himself with her. His hand slid down from her waist to alight on the inside of her knee. One corner of her lips lifted into a wicked half-smile. Roy wanted to kiss it. If only to forget.

The woman leaned forward, giving Roy a most pleasant view. One hand twined into the hair at the nape of his neck and the other pressed the tumbler of whiskey into his free hand. "On me," she said. She leaned back against the bar, her eyes dark and all-knowing. "You look like you need it."

Roy smiled at her in thanks as he lifted the glass to his lips. The whiskey burned – wonderfully numbing – down his throat. He emptied the glass in three greedy swallows and set it on the tabletop.

Her eyes never left his. "How about we get out of here?"

Roy nodded, tossing a few cens on the bar. He stumbled a bit as he rose from his chair, but the woman caught him, having already moved to stand at his elbow. She laughed lightly. "How many drinks have you had, handsome?"

"Enough," he said, flashing a crooked grin. He wound his hand around her waist.

The night air was cool when they stepped outside. A waning moon illuminated the empty streets. It cast a pale glow on the woman's hair, transforming her golden locks into silver. He tried not to be disappointed by that.

"Where are we headed?" He slurred. His tongue felt thick and clumsy.

"This way," she said, tugging him to a narrow alley that branched from the main avenue.

Roy blinked as a burst of dizziness overcame him. The whiskey was hitting him harder than he anticipated. His hand dropped from her waist. "What's down there?"

She smiled enchantingly. "You'll see." Her arm slid down from his elbow to grasp his hand. She tugged him toward the dark alley, insistent. "Come on, Roy." She looked so very lovely in the moonlight. So ripe and full. Like a forbidden fruit. He followed her into the shadows, his feet tripping over one another. His head swam.

It was not until he was well into the alley that a thought surfaced in his muddled mind. "Wait." He stopped, frowning, and he shook his hand out of her grip. His vision dipped and spun alarmingly. Roy reeled for a moment before he managed to lean an arm against the brick wall. "How do you know my name?"

The woman turned to face him, her eyes guarded. "Everyone knows who _you_ are, Roy Mustang," she said simply. But her voice was tight and wary. She held out her hand to him. "Come."

He did not like this. Something was wrong. "No," Roy mumbled. He stepped away from the woman. His feet fumbled and his shoulder glanced against the wall. "Stay away from me." The words garbled around his thickened tongue. Roy shook his head as he desperately fought the dense, cotton-wool sensation that stuffed his head. Everything was cloudy. His movements were slow; he felt like he was moving through sap. Roy slid down the wall as waves of drowsiness crashed over him. His hand stole towards his trouser pocket, where he kept his gloves.

In his dimming vision he saw the woman's heeled shoes approach. "No, Flame," she chastised lightly. Her hand batted his away with astounding ease. She reached deep into the pocket, her fingers finding more than gloves buried there. Her wicked mouth spread into a depraved smile. "The other girls don't lie about you." Her finger ran down his length before she drew forth the ignition cloth, rocking them back and forth in front of his slackening face.

Roy swallowed thickly and uttered a moan of protest, no longer capable of forming coherent words. He weakly tried to reach for his gloves, but she simply pulled them away from his leaden swipe. Roy slumped forward, his breath coming in guttural pants as he fought to stay awake.

She trailed a long fingernail down his cheek. "Shhh."

Roy's vision faded to black. As his consciousness waned, he heard voices that seemed to come from very far away.

"Is he down?" a man said, the words echoing brassily in Roy's ears.

"Yes. He drank the entire thing, the fool," the woman replied.

"Perfect. Help me get him into the car."

Roy felt hands grip him under his arms before the nothingness took him.

* * *

:-O

Oh dear. mebh made me do it!


	2. Heart of Gall

Part two, my little ducklings. Again written for the marvelous mebh. Tread carefully, now.

-o-o-o-

**Part 2: Heart of Gall**

_You, the sophistical rogue, the heart of gall,  
The renegade of heaven to short-lived men  
Purveyor of prerogatives and titles,  
Fire-thief! Dost thou hear me? I've a word for thee._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

His breath reeked of stale liquor. His tongue lay thick in his mouth. He felt cold stone scrape against his back. Unseen hands gripped his wrists, and his heels caught against the uneven ground. Someone was dragging him. He heard a distant plinking sound, like water falling into a shallow pool. The air tasted stagnant. His torpid, drugged mind did not recognize this place.

"Damn, he's heavier than he looks." The voice sounded muffled, far away.

"Stop complaining. The money's worth it."

Roy struggled against the ten-ton weight that smothered his consciousness. Dim memories of a shapely woman and a tumbler of whiskey surfaced. She drugged him. She _drugged_ him! He was Roy Mustang: the venerated Hero of Ishval. He was poised, sly – always in control. Not powerless. Certainly not helpless. Anger tinged with fear settled into the center of him; it writhed in his stomach and tightened his throat. Roy tried to yell, thrash, twitch – anything – yet his leaden limbs refused to move. He was completely paralyzed. But he could hear and he could feel. Unpleasant sensations filtered through his clouded sensorium. He did not like the way the rocky floor scraped his back. And he loathed the distant, seditious voices. They spoke freely – _loudly_ – without fear of being overheard. He was alone and at their mercy.

This did not bode well.

Hazy questions tumbled through his mind. Who were these people? What was their goal? Why did they bring him to this cold, isolated place? His mind quickly reeled through potential culprits – those that had the impetus and the means to destroy him. It was macabre task. There were far, far too many: those he'd slighted, those he undercut in his bid for the top, those whose loved ones he'd killed. The list grew far too long in a disturbingly short amount of time. How did one manage to acquire so many enemies? Roy pushed the thought out of his mind with steely determination. The time for compunction had passed.

Damn. Just what had he gotten himself into _this_ time?

One of his captors grunted. Roy felt his shoulders lift from the floor and slam into a jagged wall. He shivered as a chill leeched through the back of his blazer, and soon his bones ached from the cold. He tried to lift his head. He wanted to move – he _had_ to move. He was a man of action: a soldier and alchemist, respected and feared by all that knew his name. He _would_ overcome this. But his chin lolled tonelessly against his chest and his eyes refused to open. He felt so very, very weak. What a helpless, miserable thing he was.

"Help me with these."

Roy heard a heavy clinking sound and a cool something briefly grazed his cheek. Callus-roughened hands gripped his left forearm and lifted it above his head. Roy felt a smooth band close about his wrist; it clasped shut with a terrifying snap. The sound had a cold finality to it that sent dread through Roy's slackened body. The captor let go of his arm and Roy's wrist hung like a dead thing from the shackle. The cold metal bit into his flesh.

"Bind him up good. We don't want any alchemy today." He recognized the smoky voice. It was woman he met in the bar. Her companion – a man, by the sound of it – grunted in assent, and Roy felt his other hand lift from the floor. It met the same fate as the first. He was now fettered, his hands bound above his head.

"Who are you?" Roy asked. Or that's what he meant to say. Instead he let out a pathetic, gurgling moan from deep within his throat. How horrid. At least it meant he was beginning to shake the cobwebs that cluttered his mind and clung to his limbs. He could feel himself growing more aware. His fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered.

"Look," the woman cooed. "He's trying to speak." Roy felt her long fingernails dig into his chin as she tilted his face toward the sound of her voice. "Go ahead, Colonel," she teased. "I'm listening."

Roy mumbled again. Inwardly, he quailed. It took all his willpower to lift his eyelids against the overwhelming weight that dragged at them. A promising crack of light filtered through his lashes before his eyes rolled back in their sockets. He slumped into semi-consciousness again. The failure of it stung.

"Mustang," she crooned, calling to him in a singsong tone. The cruel nails burrowed into Roy's skin, eliciting another pitiable grunt. The woman's other hand ran down his chest, worrying at the buttons of his coat. Her fingers left burning trails on his skin. Hot, thick revulsion exploded in Roy's gut. He wanted to escape her unwelcome touch. "Wake up."

Now fueled by fury, Roy desperately clawed at the heavy darkness that cloyed his mind and anchored his limbs. He inched towards awareness in tiny, painful spurts, and the drug's hold on began to peel away in slow layers. His eyes cracked open.

The woman's face hovered in his doubled vision, her eyes dark and triumphant. "There you are," she murmured. Roy blinked against the haze that clouded his sight. His half-lidded eyes sluggishly slid past her. He needed to get a gauge on his surroundings. They were in a dimly lit cavern, the walls and ceiling formed from natural stone. A man stood silent several paces away. He was huge – practically a behemoth. Lank hair hung to his shoulders and into his dull eyes. A torch sputtered in his hand, casting an eerie glow against the stalactites that jutted from the ceiling like daggers.

The woman smiled her crooked smile. The hand that gripped Roy's chin slid around to the nape of his neck and her fingers twined into his hair. She swung one leg over his and settled into his lap. Roy could not do much more than stare at her with violent hatred in his eyes. He managed a garbled croak.

"You're in trouble, Mustang," she murmured, false pity in her voice. "Our employer must truly hate you. He is certainly paying us enough to retrieve you for him." Her free hand slid to the topmost button of his shirt. She popped it off with a deft flick of her thumb. "What did you do to him, I wonder?" Her hand moved. Another button jumped free into the space between them. Roy felt a damp chill seep through the widening gap of his shirt.

Meanwhile, the woman's hulking partner simply stood there, silent and expressionless. His hard, sullen eyes never left his companion as her hand slipped down yet again. "Don't," Roy slurred. Pathetic.

The woman's fingers tightened in Roy's hair and she jerked his head back. Her lips spread into the smile he found so beguiling mere hours before. Now the lopsided grin filled him with foreboding. It spoke of secret, terrible things. "He said you would fall for a blonde," she breathed, puffing her fringe to illustrate her point. "I never thought the famous Flame Alchemist would be such a sentimental man." She drew back to regard him with her dark, dark eyes. "You truly are a fool, Roy Mustang."

Roy silently raged against the drug-bonds that chained him. How _dare_ she mock him. How _dare_ she touch him. If only he had his gloves and his strength and wits about him. She would feel the unloving wrath of his alchemy. He imagined her screams as he set his flame against her. He imagined how her depraved, dark eyes would widen in fear and pain.

She smiled and leaned toward him. Her free hand delved between the folds of his unbuttoned shirt.

"Stop," a man's voice keened from the darkness. Roy looked up. A shadowy form stood just outside the light that pooled under the flickering torch.

The woman jumped away from Roy as though she had been burned. "Ethon!"

"What are you doing?" The voice had a strange quality to it, like a muted shriek. It echoed weirdly off the stony walls.

The woman scurried to her companion's side, a terrified expression on her beautiful face. "Ethon, I… I just –"

"You were told not to touch him. You were told not to leave a mark on him."

"I didn't –"

"I wanted him whole and unharmed."

"I know that, I –"

Ethon strode forward into the torchlight. He had a slight form and tawny hair. A large, hooked nose jutted from his angular face. Something about his features pulled at Roy's memory. "You will leave." Ethon's piercing eyes trailed down to where Roy sat shackled against the wall. "Now."

The woman's companion growled, the muscles in his free arm bulging as his hand formed into an enormous fist. The woman stepped forward, her voice low and fierce. "What about our money? You promised us –"

"Silence," Ethon bit. His gaze remained trained on Mustang's prone form. "I will pay you in due time. After I ensured that you remained within the bounds of our agreement."

"No! We want our –"

"Kate." Ethon's voice was suddenly airy – treacherously so. "Did you hear what happened to the last mercenary that betrayed me?"

The woman – Kate – glowered. "…Yes."

"Then you know what I am capable of."

She shuddered delicately. "Yes."

"You will leave. _Now_."

Kate glanced up at her companion. They exchanged a long, meaningful look. The man jerked his head, and Kate nodded curtly. "Fine," she said. "But I expect payment. I told you we'd get the job done. He's yours." Kate stalked up to Ethon and drew Roy's gloves from beneath her plunging neckline. She threw the ignition cloth at his feet. Kate tossed her head and sent a scathing glance in Ethon's direction before she stalked angrily into the darkness. The behemoth wedged his torch into a nearby crag before lumbering after her.

Ethon's sharp eyes followed the sound of their footsteps for a long time. Eventually it faded, replaced by the distant noise of dripping water. Roy eyed the man carefully. He looked so familiar. He swore he'd seen him before… It was his nose. Roy knew that shape. His numbed mind just couldn't pin where or when.

"Roy Mustang," Ethon drawled. He reached down to scoop up the gloves and strode toward the Colonel. His feet hardly made a sound against the stone floor. "We meet again. At last."

"Who're you?" Roy mumbled. His tongue felt more nimble and he found he could move his fingers at will. Good.

Ethon's face twisted in fury. He swooped down to crouch before Roy, his face uncomfortably close. "You don't remember me?"

Mustang shook his head dumbly. He could move his neck – another small victory. He managed a weak semblance of his confident, crooked smile. "No," he said flatly.

The man's hand darted forward to grip Roy's throat. His fingers dug into Roy's skin like talons. Ethon's voice came out in measured, angry pants. "You… don't… _remember_… me?"

The fury in Ethon's eyes filled Roy with bitter strength. He had somehow unhinged this man. Perhaps this could work to his advantage. He needed to buy more time to shake the effects of the drug. "Why should I remember you?" he croaked haughtily.

Ethon's lips tightened into a livid line and his fingers tightened on Roy's throat. Roy's breath whistled through his constricted windpipe, but he refused to cry out. Whoever this man was, Roy would not give him whatever satisfaction he sought. He would not be a helpless victim of misplaced revenge. Roy stared impudently back at his captor, black eyes meeting golden brown. Ethon's chest heaved with pure, unbridled fury. Emotions flickered over his face. For a moment, he looked almost… hurt.

An immeasurable time passed, marked only by the agonized cadence of Roy's hooting breaths. Eventually, Ethon's grip loosened. His face relaxed, and his fingers were suddenly gentle against Roy's throat. "You always were a hateful boy," he said softly. "It seems you turned into a hateful man as well." Ethon's fingers trailed up to Roy's cheek, running softly against the pale skin. His eyes lingered on Roy's lips and his voice dropped to a near-imperceptible whisper. "A hateful, beautiful man."

Roy flinched away from the unwanted caress. Revulsion roiled within him. "Don't touch me," he hissed. The back of his head met the stony wall; he was pinned. Trapped with this disturbing, vengeful stranger.

Ethon's feathery brows furrowed. His fingers gripped Roy's chin. "You may not remember me, Roy Mustang, but I remember _you_." His voice rose to a wheedling falsetto. "Roy Mustang, Golden Cadet. Always at the top of the class. And such an alchemist the Academy had never seen. What a clever boy. So confident – so talented!" Ethon's eyes shone with hate. "_I_ was supposed to unlock the secrets of fire. _I_ was supposed to be the Flame Alchemist, not you. You conniving, _hateful_ boy."

Roy's eyes widened. Of course. Ethon looked different now. Nothing like his younger days as a cadet. Back then his cheeks were fuller, his hair cut short in military style. His body was thick and awkward – almost chubby. The perfect target for hurtful, cutting jibes. But most of all, Roy remembered his hooked nose and lingering eyes.

Ethan watched Roy's face closely as recognition slowly dawned in the Colonel's eyes. "You do remember me." He breathed. "Good. That means we can get right to business."

Roy stared silently at his old rival, now his captor. He could not believe such an obscure figure from his youth would seek vengeance now.

His thoughts strayed regretfully to the past.

_Think not that I for pride and stubbornness  
Am silent: rather is my heart the prey  
Of gnawing thoughts, both for the past, and now  
Seeing myself by vengeance buffeted._

_Aeschylus –Prometheus Bound_


	3. Haughty Tongue

Off we go! Part 3.

This marks my first stab at writing Maes. So be kind, dear readers. Be kind.

Excuses, excuses!

-o-o-o-

**Part 3: Haughty Tongue**

_Ah me! Ah me! what wafture nigh at hand,  
As of great birds of prey, is this I hear?  
The bright air fanned  
Whistles and shrills with rapid beat of wings.  
There cometh naught but to my spirit brings  
Horror and fear._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

Ethon stepped away. The flickering torchlight played over his reedy form and cast his gaunt face in shadow. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he murmured. Roy's gloves turned over and over in his thin hands. "I have dreamed of this."

Roy tugged experimentally at his bindings. The chains quickly pulled taught, clinking softly against the rocky wall. He could move his fingers well enough, but there was barely a hairsbreadth of space for his wrists. The shackles bit into his skin and the awkward position set a deep ache into his shoulders.

The thin man continued pacing, his voice dropping to a fervent whisper. "But now you're mine. _Mine_. I have longed for this." His golden eyes drifted to Roy's prone form. They hungered.

Roy tried to pretend the shiver that ran down his spine was from the damp that leeched through his shirt. The keen, predatory stare seemed to pierce him through. Roy lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, feigning confidence despite his vulnerable position. He hoped he made a good show of it; he still felt slow and thick from the aftereffects of the drug. "Ethon," he said. "Think. Do you know what happens to those who kidnap Amestrian military officers?"

The measured cadence of Ethon's boots faltered for the briefest moment before it resumed. His heels ground on the rocky floor with each deliberate step. "Of course I do," Ethon spat. "I was a cadet at one time, too."

Roy's eyes glittered. "You could be executed for this."

"I won't," Ethon said with grim certainty.

"Fools like you always end up getting caught."

Ethon stopped to let out a cawing 'ha!' He cocked his head to one side and regarded Roy with a bemused smirk. "_You're_ the fool, Mustang. You don't seem to understand that it's not _you_ they value – it's what you _know_. They don't need _you_. They need a Flame Alchemist." Ethon snapped his fingers with a small chuckle. "That's why the military will _beg_ to have me back after I'm finished with you."

Roy brows furrowed. He did not know what Ethon meant by that. He did not care to.

Ethon resumed his pacing. "I've watched you, Mustang. All these years, I've watched you. You're always in the papers." He spread his arms expansively. "The Flame Alchemist: venerated Hero of Ishval! Perfect soldier! Alchemy like no other!" Ethon snorted. He stopped in front of Roy, staring down at him with disdain. "Please. You are a _thief_. You _stole_ your secrets. It's the only way."

Roy glared at his captor. "I stole nothing. The equations were given to me willingly." His thoughts strayed to a room filled with musty books and the smooth curve of a woman's back.

"_Liar_," Ethon sneered. "You. Are. A. Liar."

"I don't lie," Roy said fiercely. "They were endowed to me."

Fury broke over Ethon's angular face. "I don't believe you. No one would entrust their secrets to such a petty, selfish creature."

The colonel looked away for a moment. _Petty_, he thought. _Selfish. _Another memory surfaced – this time of shifting sands and falling ash. A woman's voice – soft and cool – drifted into Roy's thoughts. '_I trusted you with my father's research_.' Her tone spoke of remorse and unfulfilled promises. '_There can be no more flame alchemists_.' Roy shuddered and shook his head. Now was not the time for regret.

Ethon's face grew livid: ghostly pale in the dim light. He resumed his pacing. "You don't deserve to bear such precious knowledge."

Roy let out a laughing breath through his nose. "And you do?"

Ethon turned, boots scraping on the pebbly floor. He strode closer to lean threateningly over his captive. Roy coughed as a cloying smell filled his nose.

"I made flame first." Ethon's voice was disturbingly soft.

"You think that matters?" Roy said, shaking his head. "That was hardly flame alchemy. It was dangerous. You had nothing more than an inefficient equ-"

"Shut up!" Ethon screamed. His boot darted out before Roy could react. It met the colonel's side with a sickening thud. There was a telltale cracking noise – probably a broken rib – and Roy's breath whooshed out in a throaty 'huh.' He fell to his side, arms stretched taught on the shackles that joined his wrists to the wall.

Ethon stepped back, a kind of brutal triumph twisting his features. After a long silence, Roy used the chains to right himself. The motion tugged at his ribs and he sucked in a painful gasp. Yes, definitely broken.

"I should have known," Ethon seethed. "I should have known the moment I met you. You were such a jealous, petty boy. You thought only of your pride first." He stepped closer. "Do you remember _that_, Mustang?"

Roy glared up at his captor through sweat-soaked bangs. "Yes."

-o-o-o-

_There exists an inflammable element contained in every flammable substance. Careful measurement substantiates its existence. It has been observed that ash is lighter than wood. Rust is lighter than iron. Thus, something is released or lost during combustion. This is the 'phlogiston.'_

Ethon bent over an ancient copy of _Physica Subterranea_. His back ached. He squinted at the tiny lettering; his eyes felt strained from long nights in the library with a single, paltry candle. But he neared an answer – he was sure of it. Epiphany would strike soon. It had to. It just _had_ to. The secret of flame was just beyond his grasp.

He was so engrossed he hardly heard the sound of footsteps nearby.

"What're you reading?" said a cool, smooth voice.

Ethon glanced up to see a dark-eyed youth approach. He sauntered, hands delved deeply in his pockets. Ethon recognized him immediately: Roy Mustang, fellow cadet and alchemy classmate. He often watched the charismatic boy from afar, quietly admiring his easy, carefree manner with something like longing. Roy was his better in every way: He was boyishly handsome while Ethon was a bulky, awkward thing. He was charming while Ethon stuttered and stumbled over words. He quickly made friends while Ethon sat in quiet isolation.

And Roy was popular. Everyone loved the raven-haired youth with the sharp eyes and sharper tongue.

Ethon's mouth hung open, wordless. The candle guttered in the awkward silence.

Roy's bows rose. "Anyone home?" he called archly. He leaned forward and spoke his next words slowly, as though Ethon could not understand. "What. Are. You. Reading?"

"Ph- _Physica_…" Ethon managed.

Roy's brow arched. "_Phlogiston _theory?" He snorted. "Why are you bothering to read _that_?"

Ethon's hand jerked away from the text as though burned. "I- I just wanted…" he stammered. "For my research. I'm trying to… I want to research flame alchemy."

Roy stilled. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a livid line. "You're studying flame alchemy?" he murmured guardedly.

"Yeah. I think I'm really on to –"

"You can't."

Ethon swallowed. "W- what?"

"It's impossible. I've been studying it for ages and I haven't even gotten close."

Ethon simply stared at the handsome youth with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Roy sighed. "Listen, er…"

"Ethon."

"Listen, Ethon. I'm trying to help you."

"You- You're studying..." Ethon's moth quirked into a tentative smile. "You're researching flame alchemy, too?"

Roy's chest puffed. "I studied under Master Hawkeye."

"You _know_ Berthold Hawkeye?" Ethon whispered, awestruck. The Flame Master was known as a brilliant recluse, rumored to possess the complex theorems necessary to alchemically create fire. Ethon's heart fluttered. "Did he teach you…? Did he show you…?"

"No," Roy said bitterly. "But he taught me enough to stay away from Phlogiston theory."

Ethon quailed under the criticism. "Oh. Well I've been reading some other…"

"Don't bother." Roy shook his head. "Look, I'm doing you a favor. I've read practically every book here. And then some." The young man planted his hands on his hips, an impossibly charming smile pulling on one corner of his mouth. He threw his head to the side to flick the unruly bangs from his eyes. "And I'm still looking."

-o-o-o-

"False pride," Ethon hissed. "You had nothing back then. You knew _nothing_. But still you looked down on me as though _I _ were the idiot."

Roy stared back at his captor, his gaze unwavering. Guilt gnawed at him, but he could not show weakness now. He was just a boy when he first met Ethon. A boy filled with misplaced pride and youthful naivete. He was too self-centered to think on the feelings of others. To know how his words stung.

Ethon frowned, peering down his hooked nose. He clearly hoped to elicit a reaction from Roy. Behind him the torch sputtered. Ethon's features became more haunting as the light slowly dimmed. "Even now, you're too proud," Ethon said. "Don't you have something to say?"

Roy slowly raised his eyes. Black met golden brown for what seemed an eternity. The colonel's expression broke into a smirk. "Who's proud?"

Ethon let out a garbled screech and swooped close, his hot breath washing over Roy's face. He struck quickly, his fist seeming to materialize from the growing darkness. It met Roy's cheek in a glancing blow that torqued his neck to one side. Roy blinked as spots filled his vision. The world doubled and spun. His ears rung and he tasted the tang of blood. After a moment's recovery, he slowly righted himself again. Ethon stood over him, chest heaving.

Roy glared up at his captor, mouth filling with blood. He tongued a loose tooth and spat, staining the rocks a deep sanguine. _Damn_.

"You don't deserve to possess such secrets." Ethon shrieked. He reached down to grip Roy's collar in one clawed hand. "I want to know how you do it. I want the equations. Give them to me!"

Roy managed an impudent smile, teeth flashing bright red. "No."

-o-o-o-

"I think you have an admirer," Maes said, jerking his head towards a spot just behind Roy.

"Oh?" Roy turned in his seat. A young man sat alone at a table across the mess hall. He hunched over a book, his face hovering mere inches from the page. A tray sat untouched at his side. From time to time, the boy looked up from his work to glance fleetingly at Roy and Maes. He blushed and ducked his head when he saw them staring back.

Roy frowned and turned back to his meal. "Next time Hughes, make sure it's a _girl_ before you say something like that."

Maes impishly waggled his eyebrows and ripped his bread in half. He popped one piece into his mouth. "Do you know that guy?" he mumbled around the mouthful, spraying a few crumbs in the process.

Roy grimaced. "Hughes, please. I've asked you a thousand times. Close your mouth when you eat." He tried to swipe the second half of bread from his friend's tray, but the nimble-fingered Maes beat him to the prize.

With a cheeky grin, Maes stuffed the rest of the bread in his face. He snorted at his friend's affronted expression, nearly choking in the process. Maes coughed and sputtered for a moment before he regained his composure. "Really, Roy. Who is that guy?"

Roy shrugged. "Just some kid from my alchemy course." He stabbed at his gruel disinterestedly.

"Oh really?" Maes sat straighter to peer over his friend's shoulder. "He's been staring at us this whole time."

"He's probably just jealous," Roy said without lifting his eyes from his plate. "He wants to learn flame alchemy. I told him I studied under Master Hawkeye and he practically blew an aneurysm."

Maes scoffed. "Jealous? Of you?" He leaned forward to pinch Roy's bicep. "But you're so skinny and pale and altogether unimpressive."

Roy scrunched his nose at his friend. "Funny."

"Jealous of a brown-noser from who knows where?"

"Ha-ha."

Maes' eyes turned sly. "Jealous of a kid that's still trying to learn flame alchemy himself?"

"Enough, Hughes." Roy said sharply. He slumped in his seat. He did not want to talk about flame alchemy at the moment. It only served as a reminder of how he failed.

It was well over a year since Roy left the Hawkeye estate. He was certain if he worked and studied hard enough, he could prove himself worthy to the venerable Flame Alchemist. But Master Hawkeye refused to advance Roy's studies again and again, calling his apprentice 'too young and too reckless.' Master promised he would reveal his secrets in time – when the young alchemist was ready. Roy argued – pleaded – but to no avail.

And in a dark, secret part of his heart Roy began to fear the truth: That he would _never_ be good enough. It was a devastating blow to his fledgling pride. Without flame alchemy, he may never become a State Alchemist. His aspirations to serve the people of Amestris would go unfulfilled.

Maes watched his friend's darkening expression with some amusement. "You know," he said blithely, "If you keep scowling like that, your face might get stuck that way."

"Shuddup, Hughes."

"Come on. A little competition never hurt anyone."

Roy threw his hands in the air. "You just don't _get_ it."

The taller boy smiled happily. "Nope. I don't." He leaned back, hands tucked behind his head. "Don't let it bother you so much."

"It doesn't bother me," Roy clipped, though his downcast eyes and half-eaten lunch said otherwise. "Why should I care about some wanna-be flame alchemist?"

Maes cocked his head, his eyes glued to the lone boy in the corner. "Looks to me like he's more than a wanna-be."

"What do you mean –?" Roy turned in his seat again. His face paled.

A small curl of smoke rose from Ethon's table. The young man had two hands pressed on a chalk transmutation circle drawn on its wooden surface. As the two cadets watched, a tiny flicker of flame burst from the center.

"Whoa." Maes said. "Neat."

Roy stiffened. He slammed his fork down and pushed away from the table. "C'mon." He stood and strode resolutely toward the other side of the mess where the young man sat alone.

Maes stumbled after him, his gangly legs nearly tangling in the chair. "Roy… I don't think we should…"

"I just want to talk," Roy said, his eyes trained on the impossible, wavering flame. It couldn't be. It simply _could not be_...

Ethon glanced up as the two cadets approached. The boy's eyes widened; they lingered especially on Roy. The flame between his hands sputtered and died. As they neared, Maes could see that Ethon shook from head to toe. His waxen face shone with sweat. He looked completely spent.

"Did... did you see?" Ethon's voice was breathy, full of pride and shock.

Roy stopped, utterly still. He studied his classmate warily. "I saw."

The boy flushed with pleasure. "You were right," he panted. "You were right about Phlogiston theory - Becher was all wrong. But I've got it. I think I've got it. I just need access to the military library. My equations are too inefficient..." His eyes took on a faraway look, already mapping the alterations he could make in his array. "I had to use some of my own energy to make the reaction exothermic... but maybe if I..."

Roy gasped. "You... you used your own energy? Are you _insane_?"

Ethon seemed to hardly hear Roy. "... takes so much concentration... if I were to slip..." he mumbled. He rubbed his arms to warm them.

Maes poked Roy's shoulder. "What's wrong with using your own energy?" he whispered.

"_That's_ what's wrong," Roy said, pointing at Ethon. The young man was visibly shivering. Sweat dripped down his face and plastered his hair to his forehead. He looked sick and pale. "He stole heat from his own damn body."

"But it worked," Ethon said, finally breaking free of his reverie. His teeth chattered. "I just lost too much heat in the exchange."

"No shit." said Roy.

Ethon hardly seemed to notice his classmate's horror. He veritably glowed. "That settles it. I'm going to do it."

Roy's brow crinkled. "Do what?"

"The State Alchemy exam. It's this Saturday. If I don't do it now, I'll have to wait a whole year before I can try." He glanced at the book that rested open on the table. "I need to get into the military library - only State alchemists have access. I need to research more. There has be be a more efficient way... so that I don't lose so much heat.."

A look of dread stole over Roy's face. "You're... you're trying? Now?

"I have to," Ethon said. He glanced in Roy's direction almost shyly. "You understand, don't you? You'd try too, wouldn't you?"

Roy stared at his now-rival. He no longer wore his confident, charming smirk. His face was now open - weak and vulnerable. He bowed his head. "I would," he admitted.

Maes' eyes bounced between the two young cadets: one half-drunk on his own accomplishments, the other seeming to wilt as another snatched away his dreams. He knew Roy would be unbearable later today - sulky and unapproachable. But as he watched, Roy's expression transformed into something hard and determined. His jaw tightened and his mouth set in a straight line. His hands fisted at his sides.

Roy was planning something, and Maes suspected he wouldn't like it. Indeed, the young alchemist's face suddenly relaxed into a semblance of his charming smile. "It's just too bad," Roy said offhandedly.

Ethon looked up, finally daring to look Roy in the eye. "What's too bad?"

Roy shrugged. "Maes and I were just about to invite you out to drinks Friday night."

A hopeful, longing expression bloomed on Ethon's face. "You _were_?"

Maes frowned at Roy. "We were?"

"But I suppose... if you're planning to take the exam..." Roy hedged. "You won't be able to join us."

The boy seemed to simper under the attention. His eyes darted to his array, then back at Roy. "I... I guess I could come... for a little while, at least..."

"Excellent!" Roy said. He reached forward to grip Ethon's shoulder in a friendly kind of way. The hefty boy blushed to his hairline and smiled weakly at Roy. "We'll see you after classes on Friday." He turned away from Ethon; a satisfied smirk tugged at his lips.

Maes had to hurry to catch up with his friend. "Roy, what are you planning?" he murmured.

"Nothing," Roy said evasively. He avoided Maes' eyes and shrugged as though something uncomfortable rested on his shoulders. "Can't a guy make some new friends once in a while?" he said. "Anyways, I've got to head to class. See you." He quickly stalked away without a backwards glance.

Maes watched his friend disappear around a corner. Disquiet settled deep in his stomach. There was something strange in Roy's expression a moment ago - a perplexing mix of shame, anger, and determination. "Roy," he whispered. "What are you planning?"

_Nevertheless, of a too haughty tongue  
Such punishment, Prometheus, is the wage.  
But thou, not yet brought low by suffering,  
To what thou hast of ill would'st add far worse._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

-o-o-o-

Thank you to my dear **don't eat paint** for allowing me to steal ideas from her (far more) creative mind, to **Shandrial** for suggesting I include Hughes in this story, and to **Disastergirl** for giving me a reality check. Best beta ever! Also, credit to Rothfuss for the heat-stealing idea. Read his books!

And to you, **mebh**: Thank you for your infinite patience.


	4. Star of Deliverance

"More!" says mebh. "Nao!" She holds a bazooka to Olly's little head, eyes wide and wild. Her finger twitches on the trigger.

And I must obey.

* * *

Part 4: Star of Deliverance

He could not see out of his right eye anymore. It swelled shut hours ago. He knew it was the least of his worries, but it bothered him nonetheless.

Things seemed foggy. He could not remember if the last blow was dealt by fist or foot. Perhaps it was both. Nothing was certain in this clouded world. His head ached so horribly - cloven down the center like a split log. He could not think.

The shrieking curses did not touch him any longer. They seemed to come from very far away. The accusations were unnecessary, anyways. He already knew he was despicable. A murderer. A thief. He already knew because he called himself these things every day.

He could not feel his arms. They were numb. He tried to wiggle his fingers from time to time, but he could no longer sense them enough to know whether they still moved. He hoped so.

At times he lost sense of reality. Ethon seemed a raptor: a bloodthirsty bird of prey. He swooped from the blanketing dark - fingers like talons, eyes sharp and piercing above a hooked nose. His keening voice echoed off the stony walls. And Roy was his prey.

A moan escaped his purpled lips and he hated himself for it. He hated feeling weak. It was why he hid behind his smirking mask. So no one could see. He didn't want others to know the truth: That he was a selfish coward, unsure and self-loathing.

He felt himself slipping and he allowed himself to sink. It was better than knowing. It was better than feeling the dull blows and the biting insults. He wanted to escape. He did not care how.

_I wail; and question make of these wide skies  
When shall the star of my deliverance rise…_

_I sought the fount of fire in hollow reed  
Hid privily, a measureless resource  
For man, and mighty teacher of all arts.  
This is the crime that I must expiate  
Hung here in chains, nailed 'neath the open sky._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

* * *

Maes pushed up his glasses to rub his sleep-blurred eyes. The other hand kneaded the phone receiver in tight, anxious spells. His palm made soft creaking noises against the lacquered wood.

"You're worried," he said. It was not a question.

There was a long silence over the line. Maes waited patiently, though he imagined he heard Riza shift uncomfortably through the crackling connection. "…Yes." Her voice was steady, but he knew her well enough to detect the disquiet in her tone.

Maes leaned against the wall and cradled his forehead in one hand. It was well past midnight – far too late for telephone calls from his best friend's subordinate. Maes hunched and lowered his voice so as not to disturb his wife, who slumbered peacefully in the adjoining room. "How long has he been missing?"

"Since yesterday evening. He didn't come in today."

"And you say he met Maple before?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

Her drawn out sigh answered his question before she did. "Denied promotion."

Maes nearly groaned. Of course. He knew exactly what happened. This wouldn't be the first time Roy disappeared in the wake of a bitter disappointment. The alchemist was more predictable – and more vulnerable – than he led others to believe. Usually, Roy headed to the nearest bar to nurse his injured pride and drown his discontent. He always left unannounced, leaving his friends unsure and fretful.. The alchemist would reemerge later, smelling strongly of whiskey and sporting a feeble, disingenuous smirk. Maes watched it happen a dozen times before. "Did you try looking in an alley?" he half-joked.

"Maes."

Maes' smile – already weak and mostly feigned – faded. "You're right. Sorry…" he murmured. She really _was_ worried. "So he's been gone since yesterday evening?"

"Yes."

Maes glanced at his watch; It was after two in the morning. "And you call me _now_?"

Her tone became uncharacteristically reticent. "I… I couldn't sleep."

"Because you're worried."

"Yes."

Maes let out an apprehensive breath. Riza was an unflappable, steadfast solider. She would not call him for something trivial. "Does anyone else know?"

"No. We covered for him today. No one knows he's missing besides us. We thought he'd…" Her voice caught. "He hasn't…" she stopped again.

"You figured he'd show up eventually, like he always does."

She paused for a heartbeat. "Yes."

"But he didn't."

"No." Another pause. "If Maple finds out –"

"He might lose more than a promotion," Maes finished bluntly. She was right, of course. At best, news of Roy's little sojourn would tarnish his record. Emotional instability – in whatever form – was not becoming of a military officer. Especially not a Lieutenant Colonel. And at worst… "He could be demoted."

"Yes."

"And you want me to...?" His voice trailed. He knew why she called him, he just wasn't willing say it aloud. Not at this ungodly hour.

Riza did not reply. She simply waited, expectant. Knowing.

Maes shook his head, amazed at how effortlessly she swayed him. Roy did well when he chose Riza as his aide and bodyguard - one of the few good decisions his best friend could claim. Maes sighed. Gracia was not going to be happy about this. "I can catch the early train this morning. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Alright." She did not bother sounding relieved or even grateful. She knew he would come before she picked up the phone.

Maes hung up the receiver and rested his forehead against the wall. Not for the first time, he cursed his choice of friends. He loved Roy like a brother, but sometimes the alchemist seemed more trouble than he was worth.

_Just what have you gotten yourself into this time, Roy?_

* * *

Autumn leaves carpeted the courtyard. Roy strode through them, stirring dry eddies and swirls in his wake. He usually loved this time of year: the crisp air and ever-changing foliage. The sound of geese flying overhead as they migrated to their winter nesting grounds. The smell of warm baking. Madame always made pies in the fall - an uncharacteristically domestic trait for such a crass, formidable woman.

Roy saw none of these things. His mind buzzed, fixated on his newfound bane and rival: Ethon, the shy, awkward boy from his alchemy class. Ethon, the quiet genius. Ethon, the boy who stole flame. It stung. He felt hollow - as though something had been ripped out of his chest. Roy had not slept all night. His thoughts would not still; his mind desperately sought a way to salvage his ruined pride and recover what was lost.

"Roy!" a voice called from the other end of the courtyard.

Roy recognized it immediately. He bowed his head and willed his feet to move faster. He was not in the mood to talk to Maes. Not now.

"Roy! Hey, Roy!" The sound of hurried footsteps approached. Not for the first time, Roy cursed his luck and his best friend's longer stride. It was not long before Maes' hand clapped over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you."

Feeling cornered, Roy rounded on Maes, face guarded and mouth fixed in an unpleasant frown. "I'm _busy_, Hughes. What do you want?"

Maes stepped back, eyes widening in surprise. He could not remember seeing Roy so aggravated. "I wanted to talk to you," Maes said. "About Ethon."

"There's nothing to say," Roy said bitterly. "He's made a flame, and he's going to take the test. The end. It's over." Something seemed to reach inside Roy and squeeze his heart. He trembled and bowed his head to hide his face from Maes.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Maes said. His warm, calculating eyes seemed to pierce Roy through. "Roy... I just... I mean..." He sighed, throwing up his hands. "I need to know. I need to know what you're planning."

Roy drew back, sucking air between his teeth. In truth, his mind drifted over many awful things during the long, sleepless night. He wished... he wished yesterday had never happened. He just wanted Ethon _gone_. It would be so much easier. Things could go back to normal and he could resume his studies. But as much as he hoped it, Roy could not bring himself to truly contemplate the idea of hurting Ethon. Still, it bothered him that Maes somehow knew of his half-drawn plans. Roy shook his head, avoiding his friend's eyes. "Planning?"

"Don't." Maes' mouth firmed. "Tell me the truth, Roy."

"I don't..." Roy muttered. "I didn't..." It hurt, the way Maes stared at him - like he could see right through him. Hot, prickly guilt washed over Roy. He hung his head. "I wouldn't..."

Maes reached forward to place his hand on Roy's shoulder. "I _know _you wouldn't, Roy. You're better than that. You're not petty." He squeezed. "I know you'll do the right thing."

A sob threatened to escape Roy's throat and he swallowed thickly. He looked away. "Right."

Maes stared at Roy for a long moment before offering a small, encouraging smile. He squeezed his friend's shoulder one final time and strode away.

Roy stood alone in the courtyard for a long time. The dry leaves blew in the autumn wind, swirling about his feet. Geese flew overhead, announcing their passage with muted snap of wings. And still Roy stood, his eyes dark and far away. It was well past dusk before he stirred. He nodded and shuffled home through the growing darkness.

* * *

Maes' breaths made frosty clouds and he tugged his collar up against the chill wind. It was very early: the deep, still part of morning when little stirred and most slumbered. He always felt strange at this hour, like his wakefulness breached some unspoken law.

Few passengers rode this early train and the platform was largely empty. Maes peered through his frosted glasses, searching. It only took a moment to spot Riza standing near the exit. She waited, utterly still, her gilded hair illuminated by the unwavering electric lights. He rose a hand in greeting and strode towards her.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said. The morning quiet seemed to swallow her soft voice.

Maes nodded. "Have you made any progress?"

"Yes. We have a lead. He was last seen at a bar."

"As I thought," Maes huffed. "And from there?"

"He left in the company of a young woman." Her voice remained impassive. There was no bitterness to it, no hint of spite. But as Maes stole a fleeting glance at Mustang's quiet sentinel, he saw her mouth tighten: an uncharacteristic show of emotion in an otherwise stoic woman. Her undoing betrayed her true feelings to his practiced eye. She was terribly afraid. "Our intel indicates she was of an... unsavory nature," she continued.

Maes rested his hand on Riza's shoulder and squeezed softly. Her muscles felt taught; she was ready to spring. "Let's get out of this cold." He nodded towards the exit. They walked in silence, their shoes making hollow sounds on the platform's timbered surface.

"Thank you for coming," she said again. She kept her eyes on the wooden planks. "I couldn't... not alone."

"Hey," he reproached. He reached back to rub his hand up and down her back. "Taking care of that idiot is a big job. It's probably nothing. Just wait: He'll show up in the office this morning, lipstick on his collar, back to his semi-lovable self. Knowing him, he'll have the gall to act offended we were so worried."

Her smile was weak but grateful. "I never thought I'd say this, but I hope you're right."

* * *

Ethon stood over Roy's still form. His limbs twitched; he could not hold still. He rounded the cave restlessly before returning to his victim, whose breaths came in soft, agonal gasps. Ethon stared down at Roy for a long moment, hands fluttering at his sides.

Nothing came of hours of questioning. Roy stalwartly refused to reveal any details of his alchemy. Nothing Ethon did seemed to sway the colonel: Roy silently bore the blows and insults, at times flashing his charming smile. Mocking him. Ethon could not bear the impudence. He could not control his fury. And so - frothy and vengeful - he loosed his vengeance on the shackled colonel.

And now this. Roy lay unconscious, chest barely moving with each shallow breath. Ethon did not mean to go so far. His mouth settled into a determined line and he settled on his haunches next to his still victim.

The Flame Alchemist. Even now - beaten and bruised - he was beautiful. Ethon's breath caught and he reached forward to brush the damp fringe from Mustang's eyes. How he longed to touch this hair when he was young. How he longed for that confident, brazen boy. For a moment Ethon's expression cracked, revealing a long-forgotten hunger. For so many years he secretly loved the dark-haired youth. He desperately hoped... he wished... for something - _something_ - in return.

But Roy betrayed him. Ethon would have been the first Flame Alchemist if it weren't for the selfish boy with the flapping tongue. Mustang stole the title from him. And Ethon was ruined, _ruined_ by the failure. He would never forgive this proud, handsome boy. Never.

_Never_.

Ethon growled and pushed himself away from his bound prisoner. He would have Roy's secrets.

Whatever it took.

* * *

Kate leaned against the counter, signaling the bartender for another round of drinks. She needed a few after last night's job. She shuddered to think on it now. Ethon unnerved her. There was something wild and violent about his eyes. The man was utterly insane. Fortunately the job went off without a hitch: She had not heard so much as a whisper of Mustang's disappearance. There were no hints of an investigation. And for a moment Kate pitied the Flame Alchemist, trapped in the clutches of a clearly unstable man. She was not sure what Ethon might do. A feeling almost like guilt stole through her.

"So serious," a male voice sounded to her right. "What's on your mind?"

Kate glanced over. A lanky blond man sat at the bar, twirling a pale beer between his hands. He smiled, azure eyes twinkling merrily.

Kate patted his cheek and gave him a long-suffering look. "Sorry sweetheart, not interested."

The man pouted. "What, I'm not attractive enough for you?"

She let out a smoky laugh. "You're plenty attractive. It's just... I think my husband might have a problem if I were to get too much attention from another man." She nodded toward Beau, who hulked in a corner booth. No matter where he sat, he always looked too big to be allowed.

The blond whistled. "Not interested getting _his _hackles up. Your husband looks like he's cracked a few heads together in his day. Thanks for the warning."

"No problem," she smiled indulgently. "I wish I could. You really are cute."

"Why thank you," he said. "I like to think so."

"Clearly."

"Tell me... What's a woman like you doing with a guy like that?"

Kate sent him a sly smile. It was not the first time she had been asked that, nor would it be the last. "He makes me laugh."

The blond man squinted at her for a moment before he threw his head back to let out a hearty chuckle. "Fair enough..."

"Why don't you run along and find yourself a lady friend that's _not_ married to a strong-arm?" Kate said. The bartender set her drinks on the counter and she slid him a few cenz. "I'm sure you'll find someone to your liking here."

The blond stuck his lip out. "But you're the most beautiful woman in this bar. I had my heart set on taking you out tonight." Despite his declaration, his eyes lingered on a golden-haired woman as she crossed the room. He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and she sent him a severe look.

Kate stifled a laugh. _This guy really is a piece of work_. "I think you'll manage."

He released a regretful sigh. "You're sure? You can't go out for just... one dance?"

"Ha! No..." Kate glanced over at her husband to send him an apologetic look. Instead, she frowned at what she saw. Beau was no longer alone. The golden-haired woman had sidled into the booth next to him. She sat close, knees nearly touching his. Her hands were hidden below the table.

Kate did not notice Beau's wide-eyed warning until it was too late. She felt something cool and hard poke just below her ribs. She was worldly enough to know the feel of a gun barrel.

"Don't move, please," the blond man said pleasantly.

"Who are you?" she growled.

"I'm just looking for something I've lost," he said. "Maybe you've seen it... or should I say... _him_?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Kate stole another glance at Beau. He hadn't moved. He glared sullenly at the golden-haired woman who - Kate assumed - held him captive with a gun of her own, hidden below the table.

The blond jabbed his weapon deeper into Kate's side. "I think you _do_ know." His free hand gripped her elbow. "Now, let's go for a _walk_, shall we?" The gun never moved from its position in her side as the man guided her from the bar. From the corner of her eye Kate could see Beau's dull eyes following her. He was furious.

The night was chill and the moon full. Kate suppressed a shiver; she longed for her coat, which still hung on a wooden peg in the bar. The cold gun barrel was not helping matters. "Where are you taking me?"

The blond man nodded towards a nearby alley. "Just there." He pushed her a little. "Faster, please."

Kate blinked as she stepped between the buildings; the enveloping darkness made it hard to see. She could just make out a tall figure cloaked in shadow, the faint sheen of glasses reflecting light from the main road. "Now," the figure said - a man by the sound of his voice. "Tell us everything." The man moved and Kate heard the sound of a blade over fabric. He thew something into the air with practiced ease.

For a moment, the knife seemed to hang - suspended like a steely star. It caught the streaming moonlight before it dropped into the man's hand with a soft, threatening sound.

* * *

Now we are in the thick of things. **Ponygirl** asked that I "don't break Roy's face."

I refuse.

:-O

Thanks again to **Disastergirl** for quelling my perennial self-doubt!


	5. Wave of Woe

Boom!

Here we go.

-o-o-o-

**Part 5: Wave of Woe**

_New to the harness thou dost back and Plunge.  
Snap at thy bit and fight against the rein.  
And yet thy confidence is in a straw;  
For stubbornness, if one be in the wrong,  
Is in itself weaker than naught at all.  
See now, if thou wilt not obey my words,  
What storm, what triple-crested wave of woe  
Unshunnable shall come upon thee._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

The sound of falling water came to him through the darkness. The dripping noise seemed to echo hollowly in his ears. He felt so _cold_ - an unrelenting chill settled deep in his bones. And he ached; each breath tore at his chest. It took him a long time to remember where he was: Shackled in a cavernous prison, in the clutches of a madman. Roy shivered. His shirt clung to him wetly, whether from blood or sweat, he did not know. He didn't care to look. He wished he could at least tuck his arms about his chest to warm himself, but his wrists remained bound to the wall, frozen and stiff.

Roy tried to open his eyes, but only managed a single slit. The other remained swollen shut. It worried him. He wanted to reach down to touch it - to make sure the delicate bones surrounding his eye were not broken. One of his war buddies got kicked in the face during a vicious skirmish in the Ishvalan campaign. Both of Sergeant David's orbits were shattered. He never saw again.

Roy swung his head to peer into the gloom. A new torch was wedged in place of the old; its flickering light danced over the stones but offered no warmth. Ethon was nowhere in sight. The only noise was the incessant fall of water into a pool somewhere in the echoing darkness. He squeezed his eyes to shut out the maddening sound.

There was no telling how long he'd been in this place. At his best estimate, it'd been at least a day, if not two. Certainly long enough for his team to realize he was missing. He hoped so, at least. He comforted himself with the thought of his subordinates springing into action. Havoc would be all hasty bravado and half-made plans. Breda would be more steady, quietly chewing on a toothpick as he ruminated over the next step. Falman and Fuery would wait, wordless - ready to act at the first command.

But mostly Roy thought of warm brown eyes made hot with fury. Of delicate fingers wrapped around the grip of a gun. Of a calm voice saying threatening things. He started to smile, but stopped when it pulled at his split lip.

Roy shook his head. He needed to focus. He shifted and the chains clinked softly against the wall - an austere and unnecessary reminder of his predicament.

He needed to escape before Ethon returned. If only he had his gloves... even a piece of chalk. If only his head wasn't so stuffed with fog. The beating had taken its toll on him; it was a struggle just to focus. His world felt clouded and swollen. Roy let out a wheezing chuckle. He always made himself out to be so clever - so confident and self-assured. If only his enemies could see him now. They would finally see his true form instead of the man he pretended to be. He was nothing without his alchemy and subordinates to guard him. He was weak. Vulnerable.

It hurt to move. After hours of unconsciousness, his muscles were bunched into aching knots sending lightning stabs down his arms and into his shoulders. The cuffs cut into his already-bloodied wrists. He didn't care. This pain was nothing. He'd endured far worse. But he could not help the vengeful, bitter thoughts that stole into his mind. Thoughts of hurting Ethon. Again.

Roy settled against the chill wall, tipping his head back against the stone. His eyes slid shut and memory rushed in to fill the void. He saw a quiet, stocky boy. He saw a half-finished array. He saw fire. He hadn't meant to betray Ethon. He wasn't proud of what he did, but in spite of everything, his intentions were true.

Roy pushed the thought away and opened his one good eye. Above him hung his wrists: bound by steel, blood quietly dripping into the cuffs of his shirt like a horrific ink. It gave him an idea.

Roy laughed again - this time bitterly. Sometimes it was uncanny how quickly his mind went to the macabre. He allowed himself a full smile. His lip split anew, but he was too focused now to care.

Time to get the hell out of here.

-o-o-o-

He always liked the library. It was quiet. He never enjoyed being out in the open like the other boys; he didn't shout or play the scrappy games they relished. The library was safe. Constant. He loved wrapping himself in the quiet; how the only things that broke it were the sounds of hushed voices and shuffling pages. His was a world filled with the scent of parchment and dust. A world stuffed with books. A world of quiet, still things. There was no room for hunger or mothers with sad eyes. It was a welcome escape.

But not today.

Ethon hunched over the text. Today the library was not a place of solace. A nervous ball of energy wrenched in his stomach and his palms were slick with sweat. Tomorrow was the State Alchemy exam: His one chance for an entire year. He couldn't wait to have access to the State libraries. He needed to get this right the first time.

Shaky, half-drawn arrays lay scattered on the table before him. He made fire - impossibly, wonderfully, again and again - but the equation was still too inefficient. There had to be a better way. Ethon reached up to run shaky fingers through unwashed hair. He could barely move after hours of experimentation, but he'd made some progress: He no longer had to borrow heat from his body to make the array work. But the effort had taken everything from him. He had nothing left. He was utterly spent. Only determination kept him upright in his chair.

"Ethon."

Ethon jumped and turned toward the voice, blinking heavy-lidded eyes and squinting into the quiet darkness. Roy stood between a pair of bookcases, hands in his pockets, beautiful as ever in his easy nonchalance. "Hey," Roy said, tossing his head at his classmate in a simple, boyish greeting.

"R- Roy!" Ethon stammered. Apparently he uttered the word more loudly than he intended, for a female cadet sitting at a nearby table glanced up from her work to give Ethon a severe look. He smiled apologetically and dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought we were going out for some drinks...?" Roy muttered, glancing disinterestedly at the books on the shelf beside him. He seemed to be avoiding Ethon's eye with studious care.

Ethon's face paled. "Oh! I... I forgot! I'm sorry. I've been so busy preparing..." his eyes skittered over the work before him. "I wanted to make some alterations... I still have so much..." His voice slowed as he got caught up in an unfinished away. "I don't think I can join you," he said distractedly. "You go on." He hunched over his work again.

Roy didn't move. He simply stood, staring at his classmate with something like disbelief. He seemed to be waiting for something. "Ethon... I..."

"Hm?" Ethon hardly glanced from the array in front of him. He drew a line, shook his head, and cast the ruined drawing away. Another replaced it in an instant.

"I... wanted to talk to you," Roy said. His voice was uncharacteristically serious. "And... apologize." The last word seemed to come out with some effort.

Ethon's hand paused over the page and he glanced up to stare openmouthed at his classmate, the arrays completely forgotten. "_Apologize_? To me?"

Roy scuffed his shoe on the floor, again drawing the attention of the female cadet. At first the girl's mouth was firm - as though she were ready to frown - but her expression softened when she caught sight of Roy. She gave him a shy smile and a little half-wave. He smiled back in that easy way of his. She blushed. Roy turned his attention back to Ethon as though the exchange never happened, expression suddenly somber. "Yeah," he said simply.

"Why?"

He took a deep breath. "I.." Roy's voice trailed. He seemed to have an internal struggle; emotions played over his face too quickly for Ethon to understand, and his mouth opened several times to utter words that never came. After a time, Roy ripped his eyes away from Ethon's. He cast them about, as though trying to cling to something solid - to find an anchor to brace himself for what he needed to say. Inevitably, Roy's eyes settled on the transmutation circles scattered over the table. "What are... ?" Roy stilled. His mouth moved in a silent whisper as he worked through the equations that galvanized the circle. After what seemed an eternity, Roy gasped. "What are you...?"

Ethon leaned forward to gather his drawings with shaking hands. His arms felt like lead. "They're... they're not quite finished yet, but - ."

"You're not planning on _using_ those, are you?" Roy stepped to the table and snatched a sheet before Ethon could stop him. His eyes widened. "Ethon, these are dangerous."

Ethon shrank back, but he shook his head. "They work. They do. I need them to pass the test."

"At what cost?" Roy said, not looking up from the the array. "_Look_ at this. You can't draw power from that! It's nothing but a giant heat sump! You'll burn everything!"

"I know," Ethon whispered. "I know, Roy. I swear I can control it. I just need to make a small fire. To show them that I can do it. Once I have access to the -"

"Do you plan on killing someone?" Roy pointed at a pentagram at its center. "Look at how unstable this is! It's not ready!" The female cadet at the nearby table huffed loudly. She no longer seemed to find Roy charming. She glared pointed at the young men and gathered up her books. This time Roy ignored her. His attention was only on Ethon. The heat and intensity of Roy's eyes pinned the younger cadet to his chair. "You _can't_ use this."

"I have to," Ethon said, his voice building. "You said you would try too... if you were me."

Roy shook his head. "Not this way. I wouldn't use this. It's not worth it."

"It _is_ worth it!" Ethon said, his voice more strong and clear than it'd been in years. "It's worth it to me!" He snatched his array out of Roy's hands. "I thought you of all people would understand. I _have _to do this!"

"Ethon..." Roy began.

"No!" Ethon shrieked, drawing the attention of a group of students gathered quietly at a table across the room. "Stay out of my business! You're just jealous, aren't you? You're jealous that I'm going to be the first Flame Alchemist."

Roy's mouth worked silently, eyes wide. But he did not deny it, and Ethon saw the growing guilt on his classmate's handsome face. So that was it. Now he knew the truth of things.

Roy never meant to make friends. He didn't care. He was just like the rest of them. Roy: the handsome, popular boy. The petty saboteur. The jealous rival. Ethon sent him a scathing look and gathered the rest of his arrays with angry, trembling hands. He stuffed them into his satchel before his classmate had a chance to steal more of his secrets.

"Wait..." Roy said weakly. "Ethon -"

"Stay away from me," Ethon hissed. "I'm taking that exam tomorrow, Roy. You can't stop me. Don't you dare try."

He stalked out of the library without a backwards glance.

-o-o-o-

A new noise filtered through the incessant sound of dripping water. The sound was something distinct: More measured, more weighty. Deep and hollow. The noises grew louder - _louder _- and cold clarity struck Roy like a boot to the gut.

Footsteps. And they drew closer with each stride.

Roy's breath quickened. He needed to hurry. He glanced up at the shackles that bound his wrists. He could hardly see his half-sketched array from this angle. He was forced to draw at the topmost part of the cuff - from his perspective on the ground, the transmutation circle was upside down and inside out. There was no time to second guess the array. He had to hurry. Panic coursed through him and his hand shook, slipping enough to nearly ruin the still-wet array. Roy sucked in a breath. He needed to be careful - he might have only one chance at this. Even the smallest error in its design could blow his hand from his arm instead of unlocking the clasp. A gruesome sort of freedom, indeed, but he preferred leaving the experience with limbs intact. Not for the first time, he wished he spent more effort learning metallurgic alchemy.

Roy strained upwards and gripped one chain with his left hand, lifting himself from the cave floor so the shackles that bound his right had enough slack to reach to the opposite wrist. His arms shook from exhaustion, but he managed to reach over to his left wrist and dig a finger between the place where metal met skin, reopening his still-raw wound. Soon the finger was wet with his new medium. In some things, alchemy was not discerning, and blood worked as well as ink so long as the array was right.

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and with it came a swelling roar like the sound of a distant battle. A chill breeze rushed over Roy's face. _Strange_, he thought, but he did not dwell on it. Instead he strained upwards, pulling up on the one chain to brace himself and steady his hand as it went about its gruesome task. Spots of blood dripped from his wrists and onto his face, but he would not be distracted. He was a soldier and an alchemist.

_Almost there_, he thought as he slowly started the final line - a single slash that cleaved the array in two perfect halves. _Almost... there._

The roaring grew louder. Soon it drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps. But he knew they still drew closer by the moment. He had to hurry, but he refused to destroy all his work in haste. A rising panic gripped him, threatening to swallow the logic that sustained him. An unbidden, desperate cry flew from the back of his throat, and his hand slipped on the chain. He dropped back to the stony floor, grunting in pain as the shackles cut into his wrists anew. He had not finished.

"No!" he spat. A half inch! Only a half-inch more and the line would have been complete. A half inch away from a functional array. A half inch away from freedom. Whatever gods existed, Roy was certain they were mocking him. There was no time to complete it now. The cave walls vibrated with the strange, rushing sound, and he knew his enemy was upon him.

Roy gathered himself and squinted at the unrelenting darkness. He had only his wits and an unfinished array at his disposal. He did not know how long he might hold out this time. _Not long_, he thought grimly. _Not like this._

And still the roaring grew louder, like a nearing storm. Like a brewing avalanche. Like a great river that ended in treacherous falls.

-o-o-o-

"The waterways," Kate gasped. She let out a strangled cry as the blonde twisted her arm higher up her back. "Fuck! I swear! We took him to the Kaucas Waterways. In Oldtown. I don't know what happened to him after."

The one with the glasses flipped the push knife in his hand and tucked it up his sleeve. "There, was that so hard?" The boyish grin seemed out of place on his grown up face. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Kate spat at him, but he dodged it almost lazily. "Fuck you," she said. "Asshole." She let out an affronted gasp as the blonde released her arm and pushed her to her knees.

"Now, now," said the man with the glasses. "Be nice."

"Where's my husband? What have you done to him?"

The blonde smiled down at her, merry eyes mocking. "Our ladyfriend took care of him. Don't worry. He'll wake up in an hour or so. After we've gone, you'll be free to go to him." He reached into a pocket to pull out a cigarette. "We dumped him in an alley... somewhere."

Kate growled. She hated the blonde most of all. No matter. He was dead anyway - they all were. Mustang's soldier-boys - loyal as they were - headed into into the worst kind of doom. Not that she cared. Fuck Ethon. Fuck Mustang and his band of merry men. She was a survivor. And there was no surviving once Ethon caught word of this betrayal. She already resolved to find Beau and escape into the country at the first possible moment. She would flee this place and never look back.

"I want nothing to do with you bastards," Kate said. And for once, she did not lie.

"Let's keep it that way." The blonde puffed out a lazy ring of smoke.

"Alright, alright," said the man with the glasses. He stared at Kate from behind the rims, studying her in a way that made her feel exposed. "Listen. We don't bother you from here on out, and you don't bother us, got it?" His face broke into a smile, and Kate fought back the urge to rush up and strike him. Though the entire interrogation, he never lost his cheery expression. None of Kate's veiled threats seemed to affect him. He merely stared at her with his vapid, disbelieving smile, calmly telling her that if she was not interested in cooperating, he could arrange for something more... uncomfortable.

But Kate was no hero. She would not risk herself or her husband for an insane bastard like Ethon. And so she willingly spilled Ethon's secrets, knowing that in doing so she forfeited her life to him. Assuming, of course, he caught her. Maybe she would be lucky. Maybe she could get away in time. Maybe Mustang's men would solve her problem and kill the lunatic for her.

She doubted it.

The man with the glasses nodded at the blonde, then glanced down at Kate. "We're heading out. Wait ten minutes after we leave. Any earlier, and I can't guarantee your safety." He glanced up at the windows that overlooked the alley. "The Hawk's Eye is watching tonight." He smiled pleasantly. "Well. So long." He turned toward the street, the blonde following just behind.

Kate half-rose to her knees, but stopped as a bullet whizzed past her ear. She let out a surprised cry and plopped unceremoniously back to the ground. She glowered at the retreating men. "You're idiots!" she called after them. "Ethon's in his element down there. It's a death trap. He'll kill you! He just wants Mustang. Don't sacrifice your lives for that selfish bastard!"

The man with the glasses merely waved a lazy hand, not even bothering to look back. He strode forward with calm purpose.

Kate shook her head. _Fools_.

-o-o-o-

"Next," said the attendant.

Ethon sucked in a breath in an attempt to steady his already-frayed nerves. He wished his stomach would stop twisting and tumbling so. His hands shook at his side, sending up little puffs of chalk dust left from his last hasty sketches on the pavement where he waited outside.

He pursed his lips. Now was not the time for doubt.

Ethon shuffled up to the attendant. It took several attempts before he could find his voice. "T- that's me. I'm next."

The woman looked him up and down, eyebrow arched speculatively. "Aren't you a little young to be taking the State exam?"

Ethon said nothing. His nerves would not allow it. Besides, anything he might say would likely prove her right.

The lady sighed and pointed to a pair of gilded doors. "Through there. Once you get in, step into the center of the room and wait for the examiners to address you."

Ethon nodded to her mutely and turned towards the entrance. The doors loomed over him, simultaneously deriding and inviting him. Daring him to enter. Ethon steeled himself and pulled at one handle with all his might. It fell open easily on well-oiled hinges. Overbalanced, he stumbled and nearly fell. He heard the female attendant laugh behind him.

"Good luck," she choked.

Ethon shrugged off his embarrassment and stepped into the darkness.

A formidable, bald man with a large mustache sat behind a long table at the other end of the room. Next to him was a man wearing thick glasses and a bored look. Ethon could see several others seated to either side, their faces hidden in shadow. A single pool of light lay at the very center of the room. He stepped into it hesitantly, faltering steps echoing in the empty space. The light blinded him and sweat began to bead on his brow.

"Name?" said the man with the thick glasses.

"Cadet E- Ethon Arnold, Sir. Here for the State Alchemy Practical."

"Clearly," she man said. "Hm... Arnold." There came the shuffling sound of papers. "Arnold... I know that name…"

Ethon's stomach twisted anew as hope began to blossom in his chest. They'd heard of him! So his discovery of fire alchemy did not go unnoticed. Maybe he had a chance…

"Ah," the man said. "Here we are, General." Ethon could see a dim flash as the bespeckled man pulled out a single sheet and set it in front of the larger man to his right. An attendant came to the table with a single candle; the light glittered off the numerous accolades that adorned the larger man's uniform. His arms were bound in metal and etched with the language of alchemy. Ethon nearly gasped. So this - _this_ - was the infamous General Grand.

"I see you've passed the written examination," Grand grunted as he surveyed the paper. "But only just…"

Ethon swallowed thickly. He suspected as much. The exam was harrowing at best. But he only needed a pass to get by the written exam. The difficult part was getting through the practical.

There was a long silence as Grand continued reading the sheet. "This is... unusual," The General said in a disinterested tone.

"W- what's unusual, Sir?" Ethon managed. He tried to ignore the sweat that dribbled into his eyes and down the back of his collar.

"It says here I should bar you from taking the examination."

"Wh- _what_?"

Grand looked up at Ethon. "Cadet," he said sharply. "Control yourself."

"S- sorry, Sir. But -"

"Silence," Grand rumbled. He held out a hand. "Let me see the array you planed to use for the examination."

"Sir..." Ethon said, aghast. What Grand asked was offensive - even in light of the yawning chasm between their ranks. Alchemy was a field wreathed in secrets, and keeping them was of the utmost importance to even the most ameteur practitioners of the art. To ask for another's array was like asking a man to allow his wife to be bedded by another. It was obscene.

Grand seemed not to care. "The array, Cadet. Now."

Ethon drew forth a folded sheet from beneath his coat with trembling fingers and stepped forward to hand it to his superior. The General smoothed the paper on the tabletop.

"Huh," the General grunted. "Right."

Ethon nearly whimpered. Everything - _everything_ - he'd worked for seemed to be slipping away. "Please, Sir. Tell me why -"

Grand looked up at the cadet, eyes piercing. "Let me make this utterly clear. You are not to use this array, Cadet. Not for this examination or for any transmutation ever again. Ever."

Ethon felt anger rise in him, hot and burning. The intensity of it shocked him, but filled him with a strength he never knew. "Why? How did you know about my array?" As an afterthought, he added a sullen, "Sir."

"One of your classmates informed the board of your... experiments," Grand said, tearing the paper with merciless ease. "They were right to report you."

Ethon's voice darkened, taking on a pitch it'd never had before. "Who was it?"

"I am not at liberty to say," Grand rose from his chair. "Confidentiality is important in the military. It allows a lowly cadet to report suspicious behavior without fear of repercussion." Grand's eyes narrowed. "Suspicious behavior like yours."

"What do you mean, you can't say who it was?" Ethon's words came out different: suddenly smooth and clear where they were once weak and stuttering. "Don't I have the right to know?" A dark thought entered his mind. "Was it Roy Mustang?"

"Cadet, you cannot use these arrays." Grand's voice was measured, unmoved. "Exit the testing room. You may attempt the test next year once you are better prepared." He turned away. "Dismissed."

-o-o-o-

"Tut, tut, tut."

Roy looked up to see a figure just outside the ring of torchlight. "Ethon..."

The thin man stepped forward so Roy could see his face. He was furious. "Roy," he drawled. "What have you been up to while I was away?"

Roy twisted his wrist in an attempt to hide his unfinished array. "Ethon, please just listen..."

Ethon smiled. His tawny eyes flicked to the blood-writ cuff. "Trying to escape, are we?" He shook his head. "No, not yet, Roy."

There was a brief crescendo in the underlying roar and a trickle of water spilled into the circle of light, racing over the rocks as though drawn by a magnet. It curled around Ethan's feet and began to pool there.

"There is no escaping from this," he said. "There is no escaping from what you did to me." Another stream of water darted from the darkness, joining the first. The puddle grew quickly, spreading in a perfect circle at Ethon's feet. Soon it was large enough to lap at Roy's heels.

It was then that Roy spotted the array, blue thread embroidered on a black glove Ethon wore on one hand. It was of a design he'd never seen before, but he knew enough of alchemy to catch it's meaning.

"You like this?" Ethon whispered over the rush of water at his feet. He lifted his hand to give Roy a better vantage. "I had to find _something_ while I waited for your secrets. I thought it would be fitting to study the thing that is your weakness. Water and fire: always opposed." Blue lightning enveloped Ethon's glove. A tendril of water rose from the pool and arced towards Roy like a silvery arm. It brushed over Roy's cheek in an unsettling, wet caress. "Like us, Roy. Always opposed."

Roy jerked his head away. The water lost its supernatural tone and splashed to his shoulder. It soaked through his already-damp clothes and Roy shuddered with the cold. "I'm not telling you anything."

Ethon's smile never left; he merely shook his head. "You will." More water rushed from the darkness. It rose, higher and higher, now brushing against Roy's thighs like lover's hands. "You will."

A pillar of water sprang behind Ethon, thick as a tree trunk. The water unfurled to either side of him like opening wings, and Ethon's smile widened, ravenous.


	6. Breath of Fear

C'mon, folks. You didn't think Roy and Ethon's back story was over, did you?

Now, let us get to the heart of the matter.

-o-o-o-

Part 6: Breath of Fear

_Prometheus, I am gazing on thee now!  
With the cold breath of fear upon my brow,  
Not without mist of dimming tears,  
While to my sight thy giant stature rears  
Its bulk forpined upon these savage rocks  
In shameful bonds the linked adamant locks._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

Roy sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk. Autumn leaves drifted from the branches above. They fell peacefully - an unhurried flutter of red and yellow-orange - but they offered no comfort. Roy's stomach still churned with the guilt of what he did.

He knew he did the right thing; Ethon could have killed someone with that array. A mislaid transmutation might have brought the entire testing hall down in an explosive whirlwind of fire. It was Ethon's ignition source that was the problem. He intended to draw on geothermal energy: the heat stored under the earth's surface. It was too wide an area, too unstable a reservoir to generate anything of use. It was messy. Sloppy. Ethon must have been desperate.

Roy slowly rose and brushed off his trousers. He wasn't looking forward to returning to the dorm - to Maes' knowing eyes and the possibility of running into Ethon at every turn. But he had no choice. He knew he could always spend the night in his old room at Madame Christmas', but he was no coward. He had to face this, no mater how painful.

The dorms were quiet. It was Saturday evening, and most of the other cadets were out enjoying some well-earned freedom. Roy couldn't help but feel relieved. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a bit longer - to seek the simple escape of sleep. Roy stole through the stark halls, willing his feet to make no sound as he made his somber way to his dorm room.

His steps faltered when he heard a soft snuffling noise from a corridor to his right: the telltale sound of stifled sobs. Roy had no doubt who it was. One of the doors at the end of the hall was ajar; flickering candlelight cast a single bar on the smooth-polished floor. He briefly toyed with the thought of allowing Ethon some time to privately wallow in his own anguish. But guilt stopped Roy from turning away. It seemed wrong to leave Ethon alone. Roy desperately needed him to understand. He started towards the sound.

As Roy approached, he could hear words half-buried in the desperate sobs. Words like 'failure' and 'nothing.' Sad, doleful things that set new regret deep in Roy's gut. He placed one hand on the door and drew a calming breath. He slowly pushed it open.

Ethon was crouched at the center of the room, balanced on the balls of his feet, arms wrapped around his knees. His back was to the door. Choking cries wracked his shoulders and his breath came in shuddering gasps. Ethon's room was shockingly spartan - even for a cadet. No pictures adorned the walls. The closet lay open, revealing only a few military uniforms and a pair of spare boots. A few papers were stacked neatly on an otherwise bare desk. The only ornament in sight was a single picture frame propped on Ethon's bedside table. Roy could just make out the image of a woman with bleak eyes and a sad, downturned mouth.

Roy stood in the doorway, frozen, unsure of what to say. For a while, he watched Ethon rock back and forth on his toes. Finally, he lifted one hand to knock.

-o-o-o-

"You made me do it!" Ethon shrieked. "If I could have just taken the exam..."

Roy shook his head. His eyes never left the water that wreathed his rival like liquid ivy. "You weren't ready."

"I _was_ ready! What happened was your fault!"

Roy met Ethon's gaze, steady and confident in this one thing. "You did it to yourself."

"No!" A flash of light enveloped Ethon's glove and cord-thick bands of water burst from the pool at his feet. They shot forward with blinding speed and struck Roy's shoulder, face, and gut like snakes. Roy's scream was cut short as water filled his mouth and forced its way down his throat. He managed to turn his head to avoid the spray, but not before he was reduced to a sputtering mess. "There was nothing else for me!" Ethon shrieked over the sound of Roy's gasping coughs. "Nothing! The military was all I had. You _stole _that from me."

Roy grunted and pulled himself upright. Drops of bloody water fell from the shackles above, and as they spattered on his face he knew at least some of it was from the unfinished array, now ruined. His last chance destroyed by his one undoing. Roy pushed it from his mind. "Even without alchemy, you could have stayed in the military, Ethon. If you hadn't -"

"No." Ethon's voice was thick with hatred. "No, you're -"

A loud roar boomed from the distant darkness, followed by the sound of shouts and gunshots. Ethon started and turned toward the sound. "Shit," he murmured. Another crash like the sound of a giant wave echoed down the corridor. After, they heard the sound of splashing footsteps. A rush of water came to them from the cavern like a loosed dam. A bar of light shot from the darkness. It bobbed wildly in rhythm with the splashing sounds. Roy recognized it as the characteristic, artificial beam of a flashlight.

"Roy!" a voice called. The rocky walls made it into a near-intelligible echo, but he recognized the timbre all the same.

Roy smiled. He knew it. He knew they'd come for him. "It's over, Ethon."

Ethon stared into the black for a long minute. "Is that so?" He turned back to his prisoner, and Roy saw no fear in Ethon's predatory eyes. "I told you. It's not over until I say it is." Ethon transmuted again, blue light on bluer water. He lifted his hands and the pool at his feet rose in a frozen wave, its surface rippling under the flickering light. Ready to strike.

"Look out!" Roy screamed a warning to his would-be rescuers. Ethon's hand flicked, loosing the living wave into the darkness. It rushed forward as a single, unstoppable tide, and Roy cursed. He hoped they heard it in time.

More shouts, then a resounding crash. The light in the distance flickered, but did not die. The sound of footsteps resumed, this time accompanied by hasty, half-heard commands. Ethon lifted his gloved hand higher, alchemic light already wreathing the circle at its back.

_Bang_.

There was a soft 'zip,' and Ethon's palm exploded in a sickening spray of bone and flesh. The Water Alchemist shrieked and clutched his hand to his chest. Not for the first time, Roy Mustang offered a silent prayer of gratitude for Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and her deadly aim.

"Roy!" The voice was much clearer this time.

_Maes_, Roy thought. He nearly sobbed when his friend materialized out of the darkness, flashlight in hand. Riza followed soon after, silent as a shadow. Her eyes flicked to Mustang before they returned to Ethon. Roy knew her well enough to see the meaning behind her her tight eyes and firm mouth. She was furious. She positioned herself between Roy and Ethon, gun trained on the threat, ready to do what was necessary to protect him.

"Don't!" Roy called to her. "Don't... shoot him."

Her hands did not waver, but she acknowledged the command with a curt nod. Her eyes never left Ethon, who writhed on the floor, spitting wretched curses all the while.

Maes frowed at Ethon for a long moment before he crouched before Roy, expression grim. A set of lockpicks appeared in his hand and he set to work at the shackles. "Shit, Roy," he said, a hint of his jocular humor managing to make its way through in spite of everything. "Just what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"It's Ethon," Roy said, wishing he didn't sound so tired and weak and so damn scared. "It's him. The one I -"

Maes stopped in his work to look at Roy, face suddenly sad and aged beyond its years. "I know, Roy. I know." One of the shackles clicked. Maes grasped Roy's elbow and gently eased his arm down. The other followed shortly after. "Here," Maes said, offering Roy his hand. It was a struggle. Maes eventually had to grasp the back of Roy's belt before he managed to help him find his feet. Roy could hardly stand, and leaned heavily on his friend's shoulder to stay upright.

"Where are the others?" Roy grunted. After hours in the same position, it hurt to move. His legs felt like rubber.

"We were separated. This place is a maze." Maes glanced up at Ethon through sweat-steamed glasses. "He left traps everywhere."

"And a whole lot of good it did me," Ethon spat from where he knelt on the floor.

"Sir." Hawkeye said, drawing Roy's attention. His throat ached. He'd almost forgotten the sound of her voice: smooth and calm as an undisturbed pond - nothing like the raging tides Ethon commanded. It was like a balm. Roy looked up to see an oilskin package in her hand. He took it from her, fingers shaking from cold and deep-seated fear. Inside were a pair of his gloves, wonderfully dry.

"Thank you," he breathed, meaning so much more than just that. She offered back a ghost of a smile. He turned the cloth over in his hands.

"No!" Ethon seethed, bloodied hand tucked under his coat. "No..." He started forward, crawling on his knees and one good arm like a wounded animal. Something fell from Ethon's collar and swung from his neck. It flashed in the torchlight: a pendant, round and silver as the moon.

"Don't move," Haweye said. Her finger moved to the trigger of her gun. Ethon paused and reached up with his ruined hand to clutch the charm at his throat. A wicked grin began to form on his lips. Riza stepped forward threateningly. "What is that? Let it go. Now."

Maes shoved Roy behind him, shielding his friend's body with his own. "You heard her, Ethon. Stop. Please."

Ethon began to laugh - a deep, dark, lunatic thing. And suddenly Roy knew the pendant was not just a pendant. It was a transmutation circle. He only managed a single, barking "No!" before everything exploded around them. Light flashed blue and water surged around them in a raging, unstoppable tide.

The torch guttered and doused, and they were plunged into darkness lit only by the single beam of a flashlight.

-o-o-o-

Ethon spun at the sound of Roy's knock. His face was tear-streaked, his nose an angry red. "Wh- what are _you_ doing here?"

"Ethon," Roy breathed. "I-"

"How _dare_ you? How _dare_ you come here after what you did to me?"

Roy spread plaintive hands. "I did it because you could have _hurt_ someone, Ethon. If you'd listen to reason..."

The younger boy glared. "Could have _hurt _someone? You're one to talk, Roy."

"I... I'm sorry."

Ethons next words came slowly, as though exploring a possibility he never knew before. "And what if... what if I were to say I wanted to hurt _you_?"

Roy shook his head sadly. "If that's what you want... I suppose it would only be fair."

Ethon's hand's balled into fists. For a long moment, he seemed ready to strike; muscles worked under the wool of his uniform. He shifted from foot to foot, blinking back the tears that still welled in his eyes. But something seemed to hold him back. After a time, Ethon let out a long breath through his nose. "No," he said. "It's not enough."

"Ethon, I'm sorry -"

"I want you to see I can do it."

"Ethon... ? What do you mean?"

"I can do it, Roy. I want to prove it to you."

Roy gasped in horror as his classmate took a step back, revealing a transmutation circle drawn in chalk on the concrete floor. "Wait. You cant!"

"Watch, Roy." Ethon said, his reddened eyes suddenly alight with terrible hunger. "Watch."

"No!" Roy only managed to throw out an arm before Ethon's hands met the edge of the circle. Both boys screamed - twin cries of anguish and alarm - and blue light flashed, casting their shadows against the wall in sharp relief.

Fire burst forth - beautiful, ancient, and unstoppable.

-o-o-o-

Everything happened at once. A concentrated wave hit Maes like a moving wall; it carried him into the darkness in a flurry of arms and legs and swirling tides. The flashlight clattered to the ground. Roy cried out, starting towards his friend. He was stopped by the sound of gunshots. He turned in time to see a great tentacle of water wrap around Hawkeye's ankle and lift her into the air like a doll. It slammed her against the wall, pinning her there, and the gun tumbled from her nerveless fingers. She screamed as the water wound around her - liquid ropes made strangely solid. One wrapped around her nose and mouth.

Ethon's laugh lept from the darkness. "Tut, tut, Roy." He stepped into the light, hand wrapped around the sliver pendant, now stained red with blood.

"Lieutenant...!" Roy stepped forward, but stopped when Ethon sent another stream of water in his direction, barring his path.

"No," Ethon said. "I want you to watch this."

A burst of bubbles escaped Riza's mouth, and Roy let out a strangled cry. She was drowning! Their eyes met and his heart wrenched at the terror he found there. "Ethon!" Roy said, desperately pulling on his sodden gloves. "Let her go!"

Ethon's laugh rang keening and wild. "What do you hope to do with that? Against me? Without a spark to guide you?" Ethon's hand squeezed and the liquid bindings tightened around Riza's body. Another flurry of bubbles marred the surface of the water covering her mouth. She was going to die.

Roy raised his hand, blue electricity already gathering around the Flame array at its back. Ethon was right: there was no fire, no ignition source, no chalk. Nothing but a transmutation circle and his own fury to guide him. But cold clarity struck him like a bell, and suddenly he knew what to do. He stole a glance at Riza and saw her eyes widen. She knew him better than anyone. She knew what he planned.

Roy looked away before he could see the silent plea in her eyes, begging him not to do it. He wished she did not have to see her father's work so profaned. His breath came ragged, desperate, wicked. He would do whatever it took to save her, even if it was a wrong, ugly thing. It was his role in life: He did what others would not.

-o-o-o-

Smoke filled the room and both boys began to sputter and cough. Roy could hear Ethon's loud pants over the roar of the flame. The fires grew higher, licking at the ceiling, peeling and blistering paint, jumping from bed to bed like a possessed, vengeful thing. It swept up the the curtains where it roiled, greedy and insatiable. A window burst under the burden of heat, and Roy could hear distant shouts of alarm from outside.

"Ethon!" Roy shouted. "Stop!" He struggled forward, steps made faltering by sudden bursts of flame where there was none before. "Stop, Ethon! You'll kill us!" He blinked away soot as he headed toward the sound of Ethon's frantic gasps.

"No," Ethon choked. "I have to... show..." The younger boy stumbled, clawed hand fisted over his chest. He seemed to be struggling for air. The glass frame on Ethon's bedside table shattered, sending fragments in all directions. Ethon seemed not to notice. He hunched over, chest heaving, lips turning blue.

"Please, Ethon!" Roy said. He ducked as another window burst to his right. He had to stop the transmutation before it consumed them both. "Stop!"

Ethon was on his knees by the time Roy reached him. The veins in his neck stood out strangely with each wheezing breath. He looked up at his classmate, wild panic clear on his round face. "R- Roy!" he gasped. "I- I c-cant stop it!" Another burst of blue electricity lept from the transmutation circle, and the fires called back with a resounding roar.

Panic filled Roy with hysterical energy. Master Hawkeye taught him nothing of flame alchemy. He did not know how to interfere with Ethon's array without killing them both. There was only one thing that might stop the transmutation for good. "Sorry," he muttered before lifting one arm high above his classmate. He struck Ethon with all his might, with all the wight of his body behind it. Roy's fist met Ethon's temple with a sickening crack, and the younger boy crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap. The transmutation circle faded, but the fires raged on. He didn't have much time.

Roy leaned down to lift Ethon's arm and drape it over his neck. He hoisted the larger boy from the floor and made his stumbling way outside.

-o-o-o-

"Ethon!" Roy snarled. He held his gloved hand before him, palm up, fingers curled. Not ready to snap. Ready to steal. "Let her go!"

Riza's legs kicked against the stony wall. Her head turned in a silent 'no,' commanding him to stop. Tears streaked from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks to join the liquid gag.

_Look away_, he silently begged her. _Look away. I don't want you to see this_.

But she didn't. She never would. Instead, he tore his eyes from her. Light flashed at his fingertips.

Ethon was laughing - a high, keening, mocking thing. He was too drunk on impending victory. On vengeance met. He was too wrapped in his own success to feel the invisible, imperceptible changes in the air around him. He did not see Roy stealing the one thing he needed. Ethon drew a breath for another laugh, but stopped when it caught in his throat. He gasped again, this time a look of confusion stealing over his face. He reached up with shaky, wet fingers to touch the base of his neck.

"Let. Her. Go." Roy grated.

Ethon let out a croak and sucked in another desperate breath. He spun to look at Roy, panic and fear twisting his bony features. One hand clutched his throat, but the other - the one clutching the talisman - remained steady. Riza's water bindings did not loosen. If anything, they grew tighter. Her frantic kicks slowed. She was growing weak.

A part of Roy screamed, but he could not say if he uttered it aloud. Another alchemic flash enveloped his hand and he stole from Ethon again. And again. He stole and stole until there was nothing left.

He stole the one and only thing he gave Ethon, many years ago.

-o-o-o-

A group of cadets and instructors had gathered outside the dorm by the time he burst outside. Several of them let out shouts of alarm when they saw Roy stumble from the fiery place, carrying Ethon over his shoulder like a great sack. Roy hurried away from the building as fast as he could; behind him he could hear walls collapse beneath the heat and weight of the fire.

"Help me with him!" Roy shouted, voice made hoarse from smoke. A few boys sprang forward to ease his burden to the ground. Ethon tumbled to the pavement, limp as an old rag. His face was ashen, lips purpled. He was utterly still.

"Ethon!" Roy shouted, patting the younger boy's face in an attempt to rouse him. "Wake up!"

"He's not breathing," one of the other boys said. "Roy... look, his chest's not moving. He might be... What if he's...?"

"No!" Roy said. "No!" He slapped Ethon's pale, unmoving face with all his might. One of the female cadets let out a cry of protest. Hands grasped Roy's arms and began to pull him away, but he struck out in all directions, shedding them like windswept leaves. He clawed his way back to Ethon's side. "He can't be! He can't be!" He grasped Ethon's shoulder and shook it. This was all his fault. He should never have told. He should never have let his jealousy overtake him. He should never have struck Ethon the way he did.

Ethon did not move. His head lolled tonelessly to one side. What was wrong with him? Why wasn't he waking up? Ethon was miraculously untouched by fire; he had no burns. The injury was inside. Suddenly, Roy remembered how his classmate gasped in the smoke-filled room. How he struggled for air. Ethon couldn't breathe.

Roy knew what to do.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth on Ethon's. He breathed into him - long and steady. Out of the corner of his eye, Roy could see Ethon's chest rise and fall like a gentle wave. But still he did not move. "No," Roy whispered, leaning low over Ethon's face. He puffed more air into his classmate's mouth.

One of Ethon's fingers twitched.

"C'mon!" Roy said. Another breath and Ethon's brows drew into a pained grimace. "C'mon!"

"It's working," one of the other cadets said.

Roy tried again, and was relieved to see his classmate let out a deep, smoky cough. Roy hung above him, watching closely.

Ethon drew in a long, ragged breath and his eyes fluttered open. "R- Roy?" His voice was small and confused. He seemed shocked to find his classmate so close. He took in another singing breath, lips already growing pink.

"Ethon." Roy sighed. He rocked back on his heels. "Shit."

"Stand aside!" a voice boomed from their right. "I said stand aside! What the _hell _happened here?" General Basque Grand pushed his way to the front of the crowd. For a long moment Grand stared at the dorms, still violently ablaze. Slowly, his gaze dropped to the two boys crouched on the lawn at his feet. He hissed when his eyes fell on Ethon. "You..." he said.

"Sir, please..." Ethon choked.

"I told you... I _forbade _you."

"No!" Ethon crawled forward, grasping desperately for Grand's boot.

The General stepped out of his reach. "Dishonorable discharge," he said. A number of students gasped.

"Sir," Roy said. "It was an accident... I was the one..."

"Silence," Grand seethed. He pointed a single finger at Ethon. "Cadet Ethon Arnold, you are hereby discharged from the military academy for disobeying a direct order from a commanding officer."

"Please," Ethon blubbered. "Please!"

"Sir..." Roy said weakly. But he knew it was no use.

"Get out. You are never to set foot on this base again." Grand said.

Roy would never forget Ethon's face as his former classmate slowly rose from the fire-warmed grass. Ethon's expression was twisted - a dark, sooted, ugly thing that did not suit its boyish roundness. One last sob escaped his throat before he turned from his classmates and the military forever.

Roy watched Ethon limp away, back stiff and unforgiving. He watched long after his classmate disappeared from sight. He watched until the fires died to angry coals.

Ethon was right. He was ruined that day. _Ruined_. And Roy was at least partially to blame.

-o-o-o-

Ethon fell to his knees. He made an awful gagging noise, one hand clawing at his throat, talon-like nails drawing blood. His eyes bulged and veins stood in sharp relief against his neck. "No," he wheezed.

And still Riza's bindings remained. Her eyes were closed now. Her legs gave one last twitch before she stopped moving.

A sob built in the back of Roy's throat. "Don't make me do this, Ethon," he whispered.

Ethon shook his head. "No," he croaked. He sucked in another desperate breath and fell to his side, lips now purple. "Roy." Ethon's hand left his throat to reach toward the Flame Alchemist. Dread, sadness, and longing played over his thin face in turn. His lips worked soundlessly, mouthing things left unsaid for far too many years. And still Roy would not relent.

Finally, Ethon shuddered and became still. His hand dropped into a puddle with a muted splash, fingers outstretched. Even in death he reached for his old classmate. Roy looked up as Riza's water-bonds began to unwind. They fell with a single, giant crash, and she tumbled to the rocky floor in a sodden heap. Her hair splayed in all directions like a ruined mermaid brought to shore. Roy was at her side in a moment.

"Lieutenant," said harshly. He turned her over. Her face was ashen, but he was relieved to feel her chest heave under his hand. A mouthful of water bubbled from between her lips. She coughed and sputtered before taking in a great, miraculous breath. Roy helped her sit up. "You okay?" he asked, smoothing wet bangs out of her eyes.

She nodded, eyes closed. She motioned him to move on. Taking the signal, Roy rose in search of Maes. As he crossed the cavern, he kept his gaze away from the still body with its single, reaching arm.

"Maes!" he called into the darkness where his friend disappeared. He heard a soft groan. Roy scooped up the flashlight and made his way towards the sound. Maes was just propping himself up on two shaky arms by the time Roy reached him.

"Geeze, Roy," Maes muttered when Roy crouched at his side. "You really have a way about you." He groped around for a bit before he found his glasses. "Most people just get drunk when they're passed up for promotion."

Roy let out a barking laugh, but it held nothing more than bitterness. "You hurt?"

"Nah," Maes said. "Just winded and a bit cold." He looked up at Roy, concern clear in his expressive eyes. "What about you?"

Roy heared what Maes truly meant, but chose to ignore it. "I'm fine. C'mon. Let's get the hell out of here." He helped Maes to his feet before turning back towards Hawkeye, who was slowly pushing herself upright with the help of the wall.

"Wait. Roy." Maes' anguished tone halted Roy in his tracks. "What about... Ethon? Shouldn't we...?"

Roy didn't turn to face his friend. He couldn't let Maes see his stricken expression. So little was holding him together as it was. "I'll arrange for him to be... discovered tomorrow."

"But..."

"He'll be buried, Maes. Properly. I promise. He'll be buried if I have to do it myself." Roy's gloved hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Drops of water fell from the wet ignition cloth. They met the puddle at Roy's feet with an empty, hollow sound. Roy swallowed thickly. "Come on. Let's find the others."

-o-o-o-

One more chap to go!

Here's the rub: The request was for a **happy ending**. _Prometheus Bound_ has a **sad ending**. Which to choose?

Hmmm...


	7. Fortune's Obsequies

Well, this is it folks. The last chapter.

Thanks again to **Disastergirl** for helping clean up this mess.

Enter Io, gadfly-stung.

-o-o-o-

**Part 7: Fortune's Obsequies**

_I mourn for thee, Prometheus, diminished and brought low,  
Watering my virgin cheeks with these sad drops, that flow  
From sorrow's rainy fount, to fill soft-lidded eyes  
With pure libations for thy fortune's obsequies._

_Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound_

Roy didn't recall much of the journey home, but in the many sleepless nights that followed, he remembered flashes: the sharp scent of the leather lining the back seat of the car. The way Hawkeye's hair shone like burnished gold as they passed under each streetlamp. Maes' white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

Out of all these things, he remembered the hollow ache in his chest. The unbearable emptiness returned with a vengeance, punching a hole through his very core. He felt bone-tired - far more than his body could tell. It was the exhaustion that only came after nothing remained and emotions ran dry. He hunched alone in the back seat, desperately wishing to be left alone. Knowing he shouldn't be.

It hadn't taken long to find the others. They'd only walked few dozen paces before Breda and Falman materialized out of the darkness, a bloodied Havoc strung between them. The Lieutenant had been caught in one of Ethon's water traps; a wave swept him off his feet and drove his head against the wall. Havoc was dazed from a nasty concussion, but still managed to flash a merry grin when he saw his superiors approaching. His smile slid a bit when he caught a glimpse of Mustang's face. Breda and Falman had similar expressions: shock mixed with concern. Roy couldn't blame them. Based on the pain that laced through his body, he could guess at how he looked. Roy offered them a feeble smirk - more a grimace than anything - but it didn't seem to convince them.

It was Maes who decided they split up. Roy refused to see a doctor despite his broken ribs, torn lip, and swollen eye. "I can't risk it," he said, staring meaningfully at Maes until the taller man nodded. They both knew Roy needed to hide the true extent of his injuries to escape suspicion. There were no doctors at Eastern Headquarters they could trust with this secret. But Havoc needed help, and Falman and Breda agreed to take him to a local physician with the feeble excuse that they'd been caught in a bar fight.

Roy didn't look back when Maes took him by the shoulder and led him away. He felt relieved; he was growing tired of Breda and Falman's uneasy expressions - how they looked to Hawkeye for assurance that nothing was amiss. He wished he hadn't seen her shake her head, the slight motion of her hand that promised later explanation. He didn't want to be discussed - not in that way. He just wanted to be away from this cold, wet place. Away from the worried glances. He needed to be alone. Yet a part of him was glad when he heard Hawkeye's footsteps behind him, following. He could feel the weight of her eyes on his back, the warmth of her hand she helped him into the car, and it was of some small comfort.

The ride was mostly quiet, broken by the occasional murmured conversation between Maes and Riza in the front seat. Roy didn't hear much of what was said over the roar of the engine and the sound of his own chattering teeth. They were all soaked through, and the night chill quickly settled into their clothes. Not even the wheezing car heater could cut the cold that gnawed at his bones.

After what seemed an eternity, Maes pulled Roy's car into the tiny driveway next to his flat. There was a moment of silence after he cut the engine, and he and Riza exchanged a look before opening their doors and sliding out.

"I'm fine," Roy mumbled when Maes opened his door and held out a hand to help him. "I don't need help." He couldn't see his friend's face in the darkness, but he felt Maes' hand slide to his elbow, firm and insistent. And secretly, Roy was grateful.

He didn't realize the full extent of his injuries until his feet hit the pavement. Down in the Waterways, enveloped in the chaos and terror of Ethon's alchemy, he could ignore the cuts and bruises and broken bones. But now in the quiet of night, at the end of things, his entire body sang. His knees gave out and he nearly fell before Hawkeye slipped under his arm to support him. Maes reached back to grip Roy's belt. Together, the three shuffled inside.

"Let's get him to the couch," Maes said, nodding to Roy's only piece of furniture. They helped him across the room and eased him down to the battered leather cushions. Maes laid his hand on Riza's. "Some towels, please." She nodded, eyes lingering on Roy for a moment before she slipped away. With a sigh, Maes sank down on the cushions next to Roy.

For a long time, there was silence. Roy shivered, trying desperately to keep his thoughts from straying to dark corners – to the places he held close and secret. He sent a sidelong glance at Maes, who was slouched on the couch, head tipped back, eyes closed. Roy licked his lips. "Maes."

Maes opened his eyes and fixed Roy with an unreadable expression. Roy had to stop himself from shrinking away. He always thought his friend's eyes uncanny. Piercing and intelligent, they seemed to strip everything away. It made Roy feel vulnerable - unwillingly open. Maes knew everything without so much as a word passing between them. Roy turned his face away so his friend couldn't see.

"You okay?" Maes said softly. They could hear the sound of Riza opening drawers in the other room. "Roy?"

"I'm… fine." Roy said, not lifting his head. He wished Maes would stop looking at him like that, with those damn all-seeing eyes. He shivered. This time it wasn't from the cold.

"Roy…"

"Let me be," Roy clipped. He regretted it immediately. He hadn't meant to sound so sharp. Roy shook his head and pushed up from the couch. His legs were still wobbly, and he stumbled before catching himself. Maes made to get up and help, but Roy held out a hand to stop him. "Don't. I'm fine." He tottered over to the other side of the room, where stood a dusty liquor cabinet.

"You're _not_ fine." The couch creaked as Maes rose to follow. "Roy, sit down."

Roy frowned at the whiskey bottle that rested on the lacquered surface. A bare two inches of liquor remained. He must have drunk more than he thought the night Kate lured him into the alley. He'd been so lost then in the wake of his denied promotion. He'd wallowed in his own misery. It seemed such a small, meaningless thing after what happened with Ethon. Roy shook his head and untwisted the cap. His hands still shook from cold, and he spilled half of what he poured. It didn't matter. He just wanted to feel numb. Roy was about to toss the drink back when Maes stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Roy," Maes said gently.

"What?" Roy snapped. He turned to face his friend, whiskey splashing over his hand. He wished Maes wouldn't stand so close.

"You don't need that, Roy."

Roy let out a shuddering breath. His chest hurt. A deep ache, right in the very center. Why did it hurt so much?

Maes squeezed Roy's shoulder. "You did the right thing."

His words came out a bitter laugh. "The right thing?"

"Ethon… he was beyond help. He would have killed her, Roy."

Riza appeared in the doorway, a bundle of towels draped over her arms. Roy stared at her, a woman half-lost in shadow, silent as always. But he knew her thoughts. They'd long passed the need for words. He remembered the way she looked after he stopped Ethon's transmutation. She was so still, washed-up like a dead thing. In the flurry of the moment, he was too focused to think on what might have been. But here, in the quiet dark of his apartment, he finally allowed himself to fear. He'd nearly lost her. He'd nearly lost Maes. They'd both risked their lives to save him. And for what? Another corpse and more blood on his hands.

"Roy," Maes said, drawing his attention back. He reached forward to gently pry the drink from Roy's fingers. "It's not your fault." He set the drink down.

"You don't know that." Roy said. He saw Riza shift in the corner of his vision. "How could you say that? You don't know what I..."

"I do know. It's not your fault, Roy." Maes looked at Roy sadly. "Ethon's death is not your fault."

"I shouldn't have... I could've..."

"Roy, Ethon would have killed her. He chose his fate."

"No," Roy choked. "I'm the one who -"

He was cut short as Maes drew him into an uncompromising hug. Roy stiffed – about to pull away - but Maes' arms tightened, allowing no escape. "He would have killed her, Roy," he whispered. "You didn't have a choice."

Roy meant to deny it. He meant to tell Maes that it _was _his fault - couldn't he see? But all that came out was a single, strangled sob. Perhaps Maes was right, but that did not stop it from hurting. _Didn't have a choice_, he thought. There were so many things he'd been forced to do during the war. They told him those thing were not his fault, either - it was his duty to follow orders, after all. But the memories haunted him all the same. He looked up at Riza, still standing at the other side of the room. Her face was hidden in shadow now. He was glad. He didn't want to meet her eyes. He was afraid of what he might find there. Another sob escaped, and he bent forward to lean his forehead on Maes' still-damp shoulder.

"I... didn't want to, Maes. I didn't want to do it."

"We know, Roy." Maes' arms tightened. "We know."

He could not say how long he stood there. Everything seemed dampened. For a time all he knew was wet wool and the dark flash of memory. His ears filled with a horrible roaring like the sound of an unstoppable tide. Roy felt rather than heard his friend murmur, soft and low. His throat closed and he gasped like a drowning man. It was too much; he couldn't bear it. He swayed on his feet as regret threatened to sweep him away. Yet Maes' arm held him steady, clasped about his shoulders like an anchor.

Roy didn't recall crossing the room, but soon he was seated on the couch, a towel draped over his shoulders. Riza and Maes sat at either side of him. He felt a hand rub up and down his back; he wasn't sure whose. Roy hunched. "I'm... sorry." he said. He stared fixedly at his knees.

"Roy..."

"I didn't mean for you to see me like this."

"Nah," Maes said. He chuckled, and the sound seemed to push back the darkness - if only a little. "I'm just paying back a favor." He nudged Roy with an elbow. "Remember the time I failed our firearms course?"

Roy smiled darkly. "You _did _get pretty shit-faced."

Maes laughed, and the dark receded more. "Oh yeah? I can't recall."

"I do. I had to carry you home, you ass. You were heavy as hell." Roy dared a glance up at his friend. Their eyes met. There was no anger there, no revulsion. Only warmth and trust and caring. What did he do to deserve such friends?

"Roy," Maes said, reaching forward to squeeze his shoulder. His eyes were suddenly serious. "I'm sorry. I have to get back to Central. They've already noticed my absence, and Gracia can only hide this for so long."

Roy blinked. "Yeah."

"Riza will stay with you tonight." Maes nodded to her before rising from the couch. "I'll call to check in later."

Roy reached out to take hold of his friend's sleeve. "Maes... wait."

Maes didn't speak. He simply paused, waiting.

"I..." Roy swallowed thickly. "Thank you."

Maes' placed his hand back on Roy's shoulder. "Always. We'll aways be here for you, Roy."

Roy nodded, too overcome for words. Maes squeezed his shoulder one final time before stepping away. He slipped out the front door, swallowed by the night.

Riza hadn't moved from where she sat at his side. For a long time, Roy stared at the door where Maes disappeared. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. He wished he had the strength to look at her. He couldn't bear the sorrow he'd find there. The concern. The undeserved devotion. Roy shivered again.

Riza bent down to meet his gaze. Her eyes asked a silent question.

Roy shook his head. "Just cold."

She watched him for a moment before she finally murmured something about tea.

She rose from the couch and started toward the kitchen, silent as a shadow. Roy let out a strangled gasp and struggled to his feet. He couldn't bear the thought of being alone. Moments like this made him realize how much he needed others - especially her, his ever-present phantom, wordless and incorporeal as she was. He reached out, half expecting his hand to pass through her body, but she was solid. He spread his fingers between her shoulder blades - on the place where he kept his secrets. On the woman that carried them.

She stilled. "Sir…?" She was worried about him. He could hear it in her voice.

"He wanted this," Roy whispered. He felt her shudder under his hand; whether from fear or cold he could not know. "If he found it... found you..." His voice trailed as memories of a darkened tunnel and water like ropes resurfaced. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, full of regret and unsaid things. He knew he should let her go. Ethon's death was a burden she did not deserve to bear. But he could not draw away. Her warmth was the one thing keeping the darkness at bay.

Finally she spoke, back still turned to him, voice insubstantial as mist. "There is nothing left for them to find."

The words drove through him like a spear. He was sure she meant to reassure him, but he heard two meanings in what she said. He wished he could tell her. About Ethon. About his secret doubts. About _everything_. But he had too much pride to admit his weakness, even to her: his secret-keeper. She shouldered enough for him as it was.

She turned to face him, stepping to the side to free her back from his touch. Her eyes searched his. "You should rest, Sir. Please sit. I won't be long."

Roy's hand dropped, but didn't move away. He was afraid of being alone. "We'll never escape it," he breathed. "This secret. It will haunt us forever." Ethon wanted Flame Alchemy. He wanted the power. And he was just one of countless others.

She nodded silently. She knew. The thing they shared bonded them together. Irreparably. Inexorably. And tonight the weight of that shared burden and all the damage it caused threatened to overwhelm them. Flame alchemy was Riza's only inheritance; there was no escape for her. In sharing her father's knowledge with Roy, their fate was forever joined. It was their duty to protect it - their unspoken, solemn oath. Had Ethon managed to steal that secret, she would have tried to stop him - and likely died in the process.

"Riza..." Roy stepped toward her. "I..." Another step, and he could feel her warmth radiating against his chest. He reached out to take hold of her elbow, grip firm and possessive. He didn't want her to slip away into the night. She watched him, still as a statue. She never lost her stoic mask. Her unwavering eyes only had room for pity.

His hand tightened. "Riza," he said again, this time a plea. Emptiness gnawed at his chest. He needed to fill it. He was desperate for something to cling to in the dimming night. Yet guilt writhed in his stomach. He should let her go. She wasn't meant to share in his misery. But she felt so real. So solid. Not a ghost at all. A woman - soft and warm and _alive_. Alive while he felt dead.

She slid her free hand to the one of his that gripped her elbow, smoothly lacing her fingers in his. Her smile was sad but warm. "Come on," she said, tugging gently. She stepped away from him, but did not let go. He followed without a word.

His bedroom was cold; the empty, unlived-in feeling that only comes when its occupant lives in fear of permanence. Roy didn't bother feeling embarrassed by the unmade bed and clothes strewn over the backs of chairs. He only had eyes for her: his quiet, steady beacon.

She turned and placed her hands on his shoulders to stop him. "Here," she said. Her hands slid inward and she unfastened the top two buttons of his collar. She took each of his wrists, one by one, to undo the buttons at his cuffs. She moved slowly, methodically. She helped him pull the damp garment over his head. Though wet, it still offered at least a little warmth, and Roy shivered when the chill hit his bare chest.

"Sit," Riza said in a soft command. She pushed him gently towards the bed. The backs of Roy's knees caught on the edge of the mattress and he he fell with a soft grunt.

"Ouch," Roy rasped. "Hey." He swore he saw a smile ghost over her lips before she leaned down to help him with his shoes. He watched her at her work, the way her hands moved as she peeled off each sock. And in that moment, he loved her.

Riza rose and stepped close, into the space just between his knees. She reached up to carefully take his head in her hands and lifted his chin so their eyes met. Her thumbs rubbed over his cheeks, up and down. They stayed that way for a long time, each hardly blinking, hardly daring to breathe. Starlight filtered through the window, casting an ethereal glow over her skin. His breath caught. She was as lovely as the moon, more full and luminous than any woman he knew. She was his secret-keeper. His sad, quiet shadow.

She smiled and leaned down to brush her lips across a bruise on his forehead, then down to his swollen eye. Her kisses where small things - brief and feather-light - yet somehow weighty enough to sink into his skin like a balm. Her fingers found the nape of his neck where they made easy circles. He felt his muscles begin to unwind. Roy sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his chin on her middle. One hand played at the back of her knee.

After a time, she drew back to look at him again, brushing his hair from his eyes with one hand. "Rest now," she said, guiding him up him up to stand. She helped him loosen his belt and step out of his trousers. He crawled into bed, and Riza pulled the sheets up to cover him. They felt cold and empty.

He heard the soft sound of fabric on fabric and the mattress pitched slightly as she slid into bed beside him. He reached out for her, reached out into the darkness, and suddenly she was there, close enough to brush knees. He felt her breath puff on his collarbone, more tangible than the sheets that wrapped him. Roy's hands slid up to her hips to draw her nearer. Their legs entwined, and he let out a shuddering breath at the warmth of her. With a small cry, he leaned in to kiss her.

She tasted just as he imagined: sweet and delicate. Her presence overwhelmed and enveloped him, and soon he was lost in her. Roy pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers. His kisses grew hasty and desperate. He moaned into her mouth - a lost sound from the very back of his throat. She was so very warm. He wanted to sink into her like a ship lost at sea. He was one, in so many ways.

Yet it hurt. His lip was torn and bruised, but that pain was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. Riza filled him; unlike Kate, she made him feel whole. But the feeling was bittersweet. He knew this could not last. It was but a moment of weakness - fated to be short-lived. She had always been a forbidden fruit to him - a prize denied by honor and duty and too many unsaid things. A thing he should not touch. But her body was warm and supple beneath his hands. He could not - would not - let go.

The taste of salt drew him back. He pulled away to look at her and saw a wet trail on her cheek. A moonlit ribbon, heartbreaking in its simple beauty. Guilt drove through him, and the darkness flooded in again.

"Riza..." he choked. The night seemed to swallow his voice. He drew further away from her, shivering and ashamed. "I... I'm sorry..."

"No," she said. Her eyes were infinitely sad. She reached forward to cradle his head in her hands. "No." She pulled him back into her, so his cheek lay on her breast. She rested her chin on his crown and held him close. "Rest now," she whispered. "You're safe."

-o-o-o-

Well **mebh**, it's done. The first multichap fic I've ever completed: My gift to you.

Reindeer, Goats, and Cats.

**Antigone**

-o-o-o-

**Our Cast of Characters:**

Roy Mustang = Prometheus, the Fire-Bearer

Colonel Ophis = Hermes, messenger of the gods, who taunts Prometheus

Kate = Kratos, also known as Might, strong-arm of Zeus

Beau = Bia, also known as Violence, companion of Might, often played mute

Ethon Arnold = Zeus' eagle, sent to torture Prometheus

Maes Hughes = Oceanus, Prometheus' friend and confidant

Riza Hawkeye = Io, linked to Prometheus by fate


End file.
